My Ghost
by Pearcem
Summary: Best friends Clary and Jace were inseparable. One kiss at the end of ninth grade changes it all. And when she opens her eyes, he's gone-like he'd never existed at all. It stays that way for 5 years-he got famous, she moved to LA for school. Things always seem more trouble than they're always worth, don't they? Especially when you kiss her in the corridor and don't say goodbye.
1. Ninth Grade

_June 28th_

 _Its the last day of ninth grade, and I stood in the hallway with Jace, my best friend. His golden hair and golden eyes always made me question rational thought, because no one had golden eyes, that was a fact, and his golden hair was just too golden to not be hair dye. But it was all real, and I didn't know how, but it was._

 _"I'm going to miss you," Jace says, as he wraps me in a hug, the halls all but empty since people flew out of the doors as soon as the last bell of the day rung out. "What? Jace what are you talking about?" I asked, pushing Jace away, and staring him down-which was kind of hard to do since he was taller than me, but then again, most people were. "Nothing. Don't worry about it," he says, and I almost believe him. I know its best not to push him, because that just makes things worse. I'm standing there, with my arms crossed, trying to raise an eyebrow at him, but it doesn't work out that way, so both are up, and giving him a disbelieving look. He laughs, and pulls me back into him. I love that I have Jace as a friend. I love the way he hugs me, not like the way everyone else hugs me; everyone thinks I'm a chin doll, that'll break if they squeeze too hard, but Jace knows better. He hugs me tightly, like if he lets go, I'll slip through his fingers like running water. But I'm not going anywhere. He pulls away, and looks me in the eyes. Gold meeting green. He gently pushes a red curl away from my face, and I watch him intently._

 _But then he does something. Something that I never saw coming._

 _He kisses me. He pulls me tightly to him, his hands on my waist, as he kisses me. He's my first kiss, and I couldn't be happier about it. His lips are warm and soft, and exploring mine. But then, he pulls away, and lets me go. I feel like I've been set adrift in the ocean, away from my anchor. I close my eyes, and blink hard. When I open my eyes again, he's gone. And there's nothing to prove he'd ever been there, except the sweet tingle on my lips._

* * *

 **Short chapter, but there is a reason for it, so be patient with me. REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!**


	2. The First Day

Clary sits up in bed, breathing heavily. She's been having that dream every night for the past week, and all because she'd heard one of his songs on the radio. When she looks around, an realizes that she's in her bedroom, she relaxes and falls back into her abyss of pillows. Clary can't shake the feeling that she's searching for something she can't reach. She doesn't want to think of Jace, or how he left her there in that hallway, not knowing it was the last time she would see or speak to him again. Clary reluctantly threw the covers off of her, and sat on the edge of her bed. She looked at the clock perched on her nightstand, _4:12_ it flashed, and she groaned. Clary closed her eyes, as her door opened. "Clarissa," Isabelle's voice rang through the room. "I told you to be ready for 4:30."

Clary looked at Isabelle confused. "You told me no such thing, in fact, I didn't even talk to you last night," Clary pointed out, as Isabelle handed Clary a Styrofoam coffee cup. Clary took it, gratefully. "Well, either way, get moving," Isabelle ordered, as Clary stood up. Isabelle pushed Clary in the direction of her bathroom. "Clothes, Iz, I need clothes," Clary mumbled with her eyes half closed. "Oh, that's right, I talked to your Mom last night," Isabelle said, taking a drink from her own coffee. "Why would you do that?" Clary asked, as she grabbed a t-shirt from her closet. "Because, we're going to Los Angeles, to look at apartments? Ring a bell?" Isabelle asked. Clary, Isabelle and Simon had graduated from high school that year, and had all gotten accepted to college in Los Angeles. Simon would be gong to a different one than Isabelle and Clary, but at least they would be living together. "Is that why my Mom was in here, stuffing things into my suit cases last night?" Clary asked, still only half awake. "I'd say yes," Simon interjected, as he walked into the room. "You gave her the coffee, right?" Simon asked Isabelle, who nodded. Clary locked the bathroom door, and got dressed, and did all that fun morning stuff, before coming back out. Clary had decided to wear a pair of denim shorts, and a loose-fitting black and white stripped shirt. "Our flight leaves at five-forty-five," Isabelle warned. "So make it snappy."

Clary grabbed her purse, and stuffed her phone, keys, book, headphones, and wallet inside, pulling it over her shoulder. They had bought an apartment in L.A. But, they wouldn't be coming back to New York, and their parents had promised to have all their things shipped to them. If that makes any sense. But, that was Maryse and Jocelyn for you. Clary slipped on her green sneakers, and grabbed her one giant suitcase, along with her duffle bag. "Ready?" Simon grinned. "Ready." Clary replied.

* * *

The plane ride had been long, and so had the security process before boarding. It was official; Clary hated flying. Simon stretched, as they stood outside of the airport, stretching. "Isn't this going to be great?" He asked. "The three of us living together? The Three Musketeers," Simon put his arms on Clary and Isabelle's shoulder. Clary laughed. "Really, Si? The Three Musketeers?" Clary asked, as Isabelle tried to wave over a taxi. The taxi pulled up, and popped the trunk for them. The three of them somehow made each of their suitcases into the trunk, but unfortunately for Simon and Clary, the rest of the stuff had to be squished into the backseat, along with the two of them. There was so much stuff on top of Clary, you couldn't see her. Isabelle gave the taxi driver the address of the apartment, as she read them off of her phone. The taxi driver was an old, greying man with a scruffy beard. Whenever he laughed, he would have a coughing fit afterwards.

He pulled up at the curb outside of a gorgeous apartment that was within walking distance from the beach. "Izzy? Are you sure this is the right address?" Simon inquired, as he looked out the window. "Of course it is," Isabelle snapped. Maryse had the money for nice things, so she wouldn't let any of her children live in some dumpy apartment in the bad end of town. No way.

Simon stepped out of the taxi, and he popped his head back in. "Clary, you coming?" He asked. "I can't move, Simon; there is about thirty pounds worth of crap sitting on top of me!" Clary exclaimed. "Oh, yeah, sorry," Simon said, as he shut his door. In a moment, Clary's door was open, and all the luggage that had been leaned against the window, fell over, onto the pavement. Simon pulled the rest of the bags off of Clary, and she was finally able to get out. But, one problem; her legs were numb, so when she tried to stand up, she fell over. Isabelle shoved some money at the taxi driver, as Clary finally stood back up, her legs tingling. She grabbed some of the bags that were still on the ground, and made her way to the trunk, where her suitcase was. She pulled it out, but as it seemed, her mother had packed just about everything Clary owned, and she could barely pull it, along with all the other bags she held. Isabelle pulled out a set of keys from the mailbox, and shoved a key into the lock, turning it, and when she heard the click, she pushed open the door. Isabelle stepped inside, followed by Simon, and lastly Clary, who crashed to the floor with the weight of the bags. Simon held out a hand to her, through his laughter, and she swatted it away, standing up on her own.

"Okay, so, there's three bedrooms, and one bathroom," Isabelle cringed at the last part. "One?" Simon asked, raising an eyebrow at Isabelle, as Clary became instantly jealous. Why couldn't _she_ do the eyebrow?

Clary started off down the hall, looking for the bedrooms, as Isabelle and Simon argued about the bathroom. All the bedrooms looked the same; a window, but each with a different view, a twin bed, each with different bedframes, and a small, wooden desk against one of the walls. Clary chose the bedroom with a view of a garden. There was a windowsill just big enough for Clary to sit on. She knew instantly that she would be sitting up there later, drawing the flowers in the garden. This room, unlike the other two, had a daybed. One of the other rooms had just a plain bedframe, and the last one had a canopy bedframe-perfect for Isabelle. "Clary!" Simon said, as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "What are you doing?"

Clary looked at him, trying to make her self seem taller. "Claiming this room as mine," Clary said. "You can't do that," Simon said. "And why not?" Clary asked. "Should I pee on everything to mark my territory?" Clary tried to raise an eyebrow at him, but both went up, and Simon laughed. "Clary," Isabelle whined. "I wanted first pick." Clary sighed, and motioned to the room across the hall from hers. "That room has a canopy bed," Clary pointed out, and Isabelle's obsidian eyes widened. "Really?" She asked, as she darted across the hall to see if Clary was lying. "This one's mine," Isabelle declared. Simon groaned. "And I didn't even _get_ to pick." He left Clary's room, as Clary sat on the edge of her bed.

* * *

"Clary, come on," Isabelle said, trying to pull Clary into a clothing store. _Again_. They had unpacked, and then Isabelle suggested they go walk around, familiarize themselves with the area, which seemed like a good idea. But, after Simon got sidetracked, and wondered into a videogame store, and Isabelle began pulling Clary into various clothing stores. "No, Izzy," Clary crossed her arms over her chest. "One more," Isabelle tried to negotiate. "No," Clary repeated. "You know I hate shopping."

Isabelle looked defeated. "What if I take you to a bookstore?" Isabelle offered, and Clary thought about it for a moment. One of her mother's close friends-Luke-did own a bookstore, and according to her Mom, it was close to where she was living. "Only Luke's," Clary said decidedly. Isabelle grinned, and pulled her into a bookstore that had a sign overhead; _Garroway Books_. A bell chimed as Isabelle pushed open the front door, and she let Clary go. A shop keeper came out of the backroom, and smiled at them. He had greying hair, and glasses. He wore some old-looking jeans, and a flannel shirt. Typical Luke attire. He hadn't changed one bit since visiting with her and her Mom at Christmas. "Luke," Clary said, and threw herself into his arms. He stood still-probably from surprise-but hugged her back after a moment. "Clary, what are you doing here?" He asked, as Clary pulled away from him. She smiled at him. "I live here."

"You live in L.A?" Luke asked, looking from her, to Isabelle. Clary nodded excitedly, as Isabelle flipped through the page's a children's picture book. "With Simon, too," Clary replied. "We all got accepted to college here," Luke smiles at her, as she skips over to the fiction section. "Where is Simon?" Luke asked. "Video game store. Where else?" Clary says, as she sits on the counter, where the cash register sits. Clary crossed her legs over one another, watching Isabelle flip through a variety of books. Luke chuckled in a low tone. "If you ever get bored, you could come give me hand here," Luke said. "Help is always nice."

Clary nodded. "Clary," Isabelle grabbed her wrist. "Simon just texted me, we need to go," Isabelle held her phone in her free hand, as she gripped Clary's wrist tightly. "Okay. Bye Luke," Clary smiled, and gave him a small wave before she was being dragged through the door.

"What? Why did we need to go?" Clary asked, as they walked down the sidewalk, the sun beating down on them. "I don't know, he just said to meet him at the apartment," Isabelle shrugged. "It's probably just a new videogame he wants us to watch him play," she rolled her eyes.

"No-he wants _you_ to watch him play it, you know he likes you, and you like him, too, why make it so-" Clary was cut off when she walked into someone. "Oh," she said. "I'm sorry," the voice said, and Clary recognized it almost instantly. She looked up, to be met with the gold eyes that she'd always thought were contacts, and the golden hair that she always thought was just _too_ golden to be real. "Clary?" He asked, and Clary felt herself wanting to back away. Isabelle was looking from Clary to _him_ , in a confused, yet accusing manner. "Is this-?" Isabelle asked. Clary swallowed, and nodded.

The next thing Clary knew, she was being pulled away from _him_ , in the opposite direction. Isabelle's grip was strong, and Clary didn't dare try to stop her. Not that she wanted to, the last person she wanted to see was him. She didn't think she could handle being civil with him, not after the way he left her, without a goodbye, even.

* * *

"Guys, check this out!" Simon exclaims when Isabelle shuts the door behind herself, pushing Clary forward. "I got that manga we've been missing. See, Clare?" Simon says, showing the manga to Clary. She nods, but isn't really comprehending any of the words coming out of Simon or Isabelle's mouths.

"What's wrong with her? She looks like a zombie," Simon remarks. "We were on our way back here to meet you," Isabelle explained, in a sort of whisper tone. "And she literally ran into _him_." Simon frowned, and held the manga book to his chest. "We can't let her see him," Simon says. "I know that!" Isabelle hissed at him. "Do you not remember how torn up she was when she found out he was gone? She was a mess; they were best friends," Simon looked angry, as Isabelle spoke.

Simon grabbed Clary by the shoulders, and shook her, but she didn't respond. "Clarissa, snap out of it!" Simon said. Clary couldn't make her mind start working, she couldn't make any actual sentences form, and she couldn't even make a _syllable_ come out. She felt as useless as she probably looked. And all because of a guy that had been out of her life for almost four years. "I need to-" Clary didn't finish her sentence, before bolting to her new room, that was as clean and bare as it ever would be.

Clary wanted to break something, as tears found their way down her cheeks. The tears burned like fire, and she could have sworn that they _were_ fire. She didn't really _have_ anything to break. Clary had never found a use for a load of possessions. She could always burn her sketch book. She could watch the pages turn to black ash, as flames devoured the book. But then again, she would be angry with herself for burning it later.

Clary had searched every where for him. Clicked on any webpage that the internet showed her that had the name. _His_ name. She hadn't found anything, until he started making music. Now, he was famous. All it had taken was one song for Clary to have him re-enter her life, just when she thought she might actually be able to put him out of her mind for good. She still had a crush on him, it was like those re-lighting candles, that no matter how many times you blow them out, one always stays lit. And it made her want to rip out her hair.

Clary had never been able to handle her emotions well, being over-sensitive never helped anything. But then again, she couldn't recall a time when his ability to look dead and lifeless had ever helped him, other than when he was embarrassed. Clary flopped down on the bed, not worrying about messing anything up, she wasn't worried about anything, really. She was trying so hard to shut out her emotions, so hard. It just wasn't working. Clary groaned in frustration, as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I hate him," she muttered to herself, over and over, and over again. Isabelle had found a way to open the door, even though it was locked; Clary didn't recall locking it in the midst of her mental breakdown. She hadn't cried once when Jace left, but she had stopped drawing, and shut everyone out. Clary figured it was her punishment, now, that she was crying like she was insane.

"Clary," Isabelle's voice was smooth, and even, and clam, as she tried to console Clary. "Stop crying; he isn't worth it, and you know it."

Somewhere inside of herself, Clary found it to stop crying. She brushed away the tears, and looked up at Isabelle from the spot where she'd sprawled herself on the bed. "I don't know what I'd do without you," Clary said, as Simon leaned his body against the door frame. "You all good?" He asked. Clary nodded, as she sniffed. "You guys are right. He isn't worth it, he hasn't been since he left."

* * *

 **Alright, should I continue this story? Or just forget about it?**

 **Review, or don't. It's up to you:)**


	3. The Next Day

Clary had a restless sleep that night, and now, coffee seemed to be the only cure.

"Clary, I'm not sure how much coffee you can drink before you're bouncing off the walls," Simon said, eyeing Clary's ceramic mug.

"I'll drink as much as I like," Clary said stubbornly, as she took another big mouthful to prove her point. "And, Simon?" Simon looked up from the manga book. "Hm?" Clary gave him an odd expression. "How many people _have_ you seen bouncing off walls?"

Simon seemed to think about this. "Spider-Man doesn't count," Isabelle interjected, as she walked into the kitchen. "He's not a real person." Simon pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Well, then, the answer is zero," Clary finished off her coffee, and put the cup in the sink, as she scooted back on the counter, until her back was against the cupboard. "Now, remind me why I agreed to live with you two for the next four years of my life," Clary said. "Because you love us," Isabelle said, turning her head over her shoulder, giving Clary a smug smirk. "I don't think that's it," Clary said. Simon shrugged and said, "it's because she wanted to not have to pay rent and groceries on her own."

"Ah," Clary said. "That's it exactly." Isabelle glared at him, but turned back to whatever she was doing. "Whatever the reason, I'm glad it's us," Isabelle said, and Clary smiled at the back of her head.

Simon flicked on the television he'd bought yesterday, flipping through the channels. He finally decided on the music channel, and a song had just finished, the screen changing to show the next music video. At first, the song seemed good. But, within a few seconds, _he_ came into view. Clary's breath stopped, as she stared at the screen. He danced across a white stage, his clothes completely white. "Clary, don't look." Simon said, trying to pull her away. "Don't watch that!" His voice had risen to a shout, as he tried to tear Clary away from the screen. Isabelle whirled around, nearly spilling her bowl of cereal everywhere in the process. "Clary!" She said, grabbing Clary's arms, and pulling forcefully.

Clary finally reanimated. She yanked her arms free from Isabelle's grasp, and turned her back to the television. "Screw him," she said, and walked out the front door.

* * *

"Clary," Luke smiled. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon." He lifted a cardboard box onto the counter, and opened it up. The box was full of fiction books, that much she could tell. She shrugged. "I needed to get away," she answered vaguely. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, giving her a look she couldn't quite decipher.

"Alright," he said. "Work the register, while I shelve these books?" Clary nodded, and took her place behind the register. All the workings of the cash register were familiar to her, from her previous job at a retail store in New York. "You-you know how to work it, right?" Luke asked, picking up a stack of books. "I do," Clary replied. "I worked in retail for a while, while I was in high school."

Moments later, Luke disappeared from view, into the store. Clary's phone was vibrating in her pocket, and she pulled it out. Isabelle's name appeared on the screen, Clary swiped at the screen, holding the phone to her ear. "Clary, where'd you go? I think Simon's going to loose his hair to stress if you don't tell us."

Clary held back a laugh. "I'm at Luke's bookstore," she replied. "I just needed to get away, and-" Clary stopped herself. What explanation did she owe Isabelle? "I'm coming over there," Isabelle said, and before Clary could protest, the line was dead.

Not five minutes later, did Isabelle walk through the door, a whirlwind of heels, and inky hair. It was a rainy day, today, and Isabelle had decided that even though the temperature still stayed warm, that a trench coat was necessary. "Clary," she sighed, walking up to the counter, and leaning on it. Her hair fell like a curtain, covering her face, so Clary couldn't decipher her expression, even if she'd wanted to. "You can't get like that every time you see him."

"I know, Iz," Clary said, her voice even, as she rearranged a stack of books. "It's just a little bit of a shock, you know? And if you're thinking I still have feelings for him-well, you are mistaken, my friend," Isabelle gave her a skeptical look, but didn't say anything.

It was hard, trying to forget about her best friend. It really was. They had always been together, hanging out, and then he left. Without a goodbye, even. Sure, there had been the kiss, but he'd left before he could even be confronted about it. Who _does_ that? "Clary, what would you say if a certain boy tweeted to the world about you?" Isabelle asked, breaking Clary from her intense thoughts, as she stared at her phone screen. Her expression was one of anger, yet confusion. Isabelle's eyebrows were pulled together in the center of her forehead, as she frowned at the screen. "What are you talking about?" Clary says, leaning over the counter, to try and get a glimpse at the screen, before Isabelle hastily jerked the phone back.

"Izzy, let me see," Clary said, all but crawling onto the counter to get a glance at the phone screen. "Iz! Let me see, Goddamnit!" Clary near shouted, as she wondered how Luke wasn't already there, trying to break up whatever spat-as he would put it-the two were having. "Promise you won't try to smash my phone," Isabelle said, her eyebrows still scrunched up. "Fine. I promise!" Clary grabbed for the phone again, and tis time, Isabelle let her have it.

There on the screen, was Jace's twitter name, his profile picture. But those were minor details, compared to the picture he had tweeted. It was one of himself and Clary, their first day of ninth grade. _Screw you_ , Clary thought bitterly. Her hair was free flowing, blowing slightly in the wind, Jace's arm wrapped around her shoulders. His gold eyes seemed to burn right into her, his hair shining brightly against the sun. She wanted nothing more than to smash the phone, maybe throw it through a window. But she wasn't one to break promises, no matter how much she wanted to. Stiffly, she handed the phone back to Isabelle, just as Luke emerged from the abyss of books and shelves.

"I was going to close up early, why don't you head home early, Clary?" He asked, pushing his glasses up. "Sure, Luke," Clary said, trying to keep the anger from her voice. She may be short, but she had a temper to match her hair, and it usually took a lot to set her off completely. Luke waved, as he pulled a key from his pocket, and set about to do something. Clary walked to the door, pushing it open, Isabelle hot on her trail.

"Did you read the tweet?" Isabelle asked, catching up to Clary with little effort. Clary bit the inside of her cheek, scowling at the air. "No," she grit out. "Well, read it," Isabelle said, stopping mid-stride, handing Clary the phone. Clary stopped as well, reluctantly taking the phone. She didn't want to see what Jace had written about her-it could devastate her, no matter how much she didn't want to admit it. No matter what, he would always have the power to completely devastate her, more so than anyone else. She hated him for it.

Clary focused her attention on the screen, reading the words printed in small, neat writing; _Anyone seen my best friend around?_ Clary was seething. _Best friend_? He had the nerve, the audacity to say they were still friends? Clary scoffed in disbelief. "Look at the comments," Isabelle said, leaning over Clary's shoulder, watching the screen, as Clary scrolled through various comments; _Marry me_ , _I love you_ , _you're so hot._ And then, people started commenting things about how ugly Clary was, and that he could do so much better. Get a grip, people, Clary thought. Then, there were other people-who most likely still had _some_ sanity-saying they had spotted her at the book store on first street. Clary groaned.

"So, what? He thinks he can just start using his fans to stalk me, and I won't know?" Clary demanded of no one in particular. Isabelle laughed, pulling the phone form Clary's death grip. "He can 'stalk' you all he wants, Clary, but I if I were you, I'd just ignore him."

"Really, because I was thinking of something a little more along the lines of murder?" Clary said, as Isabelle dragged her down the street. "Whatever makes you happy, _dear_ ," Isabelle teased. Clary rolled her eyes at Isabelle, but laughed none the less. Jace would not have the last word, not if Clary had something to do with it.

* * *

 **Ah! An update, finally. I've been very, very busy prepping for school, and developing the plots for my other stories-the plots are very complicated, as of so far.**

 **Either way, here you go. I hope everyone enjoyed. I'll try to update more frequently.**


	4. Bad Idea

Clary hadn't been signed up for twitter, but thanks to Simon-who after seeing Jace's tweet-she now had an account. Isabelle had insisted she tweet Jace back something in reply, but she didn't quite know what, and had given up after five minutes. It was kind of ironic, really, Isabelle telling her to ignore Jace, and then telling her to tweet him back. Ignoring Jace seemed like the best option, for the time being, anyways.

Isabelle was curled up on the couch, shoveling Ben and Jerry's ice cream into her mouth greedily. It was quite the disturbing sight...if you weren't already used to it, which Clary unfortunately was. Simon was playing a video game, Isabelle studiously ignoring him, as she scrolled through twitter-again-letting out the occasional giggle or gasp. It was rather unsettling.

"Iz," Clary said, sitting down on the arm rest. "You're creeping me out."

Isabelle raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. "Can you at least tell me _what_ you're laughing about?" Clary prodded. Isabelle seemed to consider this, and shrugged. "I'm having a Twitter war with an idiot," she announced, as Simon shouted some profanities into his headpiece. "Idiot?" Clary asked. "That could be anyone. Including us," Isabelle seemed amused by the thought, before she tapped away violently on her phone screen. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She sighed in content, at whatever she'd written, before she resumed the conversation. "Check your Twitter," she said.

Clary reluctantly reached into her jeans pocket, pulling out her phone. She swiped at it, tapping on the Twitter icon that appeared on her screen. She had at least fifteen notifications. She groaned. "Izzy, what did you do?" Isabelle's eyes twinkled in amused deviousness. Was that even a thing?

Clary clicked on one notification. Her face turned an very unnatural shade of red, as anger overtook her. "Isabelle!" She exclaimed. "Why would you bring me into this?!"

Apparently, the Twitter war was between Isabelle, Jace, and his-more than angry, and overly defensive-fans. "Sorry," Isabelle mused, looking over her manicured nails. But she already knew they were perfect. "I'll make you sorry," Clary said, her voice low. "Don't think about trying anything," Simon interjected, distractedly. He held up a single hand, as if that could end any fight between herself and Isabelle. "Fine," Clary said, cupping her elbows in her hands, and holding her arms close to her body. "I'm going out."

"Where?" Isabelle asked, again tapping away at her phone's screen. Clary hoped she tapped so hard that it shattered the screen. "To rob the bank, maybe some old ladies," Clary shrugged. "Bring your keys," Simon added, before Clary could leave. "I don't want to have to get out of bed to let you back in."

Clary rolled her eyes at him. "Glad to know you two care so much about me," she said, holding open the front door, allowing the somewhat cool night air inside. "Clary, you can't go out alone," Isabelle finally said, frowning, as she leaned over the back of their newly-purchased couch. "Iz, I'm an adult; I think I can handle myself."

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Not when your that size," she muttered. "Pardon," Clary said, trying to get Isabelle to repeat the comment she'd just made about Clary's height. Isabelle snapped her head up, and gave Clary a sweet smile. "Nothing," Clary nodded. "That's what I thought."

* * *

LA was pretty at night, all the buildings lit up, and the noise that seemed so far away. It was almost like New York. Almost. They'd hadn't been in LA a week, and Clary was feeling longing for New York, the only place she'd ever called home. It made her happy, in a strange way, that she was starting her own life.

Clary found herself walking by the Staples Center, where there were screams, somewhat muted by the building. She could just see inside, where hundreds, upon hundreds of people were wearing black t-shirts, with someone printed on them, she couldn't quite make out _who_ it was at this distance. But from the way girls were jumping up and down and screaming, Clary could only assume it was a guy, or a boy band of sorts. She shrugged, and walked further down the street, her back to the glowing red _Staples Center_ sign.

She passed a few girls on the street, wearing the same black t-shirts, and Clary thought it was probably because the concert was just about over now, it had been almost twelve-thirty when she'd left the apartment. Concerts usually didn't go until one in the morning, as far as Clary knew. She did a double-take, making sure she saw correctly the first time. And, oh yes, she had.

It was none other than Jace Herondale.

In that moment, Clary decided to eliminate any memory of Jace from her mind; she was going to pretend he was just another stuck up, egotistical, arrogant, cocky celebrity she hated. Easy enough.

"I can't believe we just went to a Jace Herondale concert!" One of the girls squealed, and Clary fought the urge to roll her eyes. There was another squeal, and then silence. Puzzled, Clary turned her head to look at the girls. They were watching Clary with such intensity, she quickly turned her head back around, hurrying her pace. She was practically running, except she was still walking, her short legs trying to carry her quickly. It just wasn't working like she wanted it to. "Hey," one of the girls said, in a hushed tone. "Is that her-the girl from Jace's picture?" Clary screwed her eyes shut tightly, hoping it would make her disappear into thin air, like, _poof_! But, no, that only happened in books and movies, unfortunately for her. "I think so," the other girl replied, her voice equally hushed. "She's so much prettier in real life."

Clary wasn't sure if that was meant as a compliment, because there wasn't really a hint of hatred or disappointment in the girl's voice. Maybe some girls _weren't_ so deluded by the idea that they would have a shot with the Rockstar. There was a quick click of a camera, so fast Clary thought she might have imagined it, but sure enough, when she turned her head back, there was another click, and the girls' heads were bent together, as they examined the pictures. Clary cursed under her breath.

* * *

"Clarissa Adele Fairchild!" Isabelle hollered, as soon as Clary had pulled open the door to their apartment. Clary squeezed her eyes shut tightly, and bit her lip, as she prepared for whatever Isabelle was angry about. She stood, a disapproving expression on her face, mixed with anger, her phone clutched in one of her hands-which were balled into fists, as they rested on her hips. She was clad in her silk, pink robe, and tight black under shirt. Her zebra-print shorts were barely visible under the robe.

"Shut up," Clary hissed. "Shut up, shut up! Don't wake up Simon."

Isabelle snorted, and rolled her eyes, her long, inky hair-which had been pulled up into a pony tail-swayed slightly. "Simon is about as hard to wake as a dead person."

Clary didn't reply; it was too true to even attempt an argument. "Well?" She finally asked, cupping her elbows in her hands. " _Well_? That's all you have to say for yourself?" Isabelle demanded. Clary looked up, from where he eyes rested on the floor. They really needed to sweep it, sometime. "What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about?" Isabelle raised both eyebrows, her lips parted slightly. "You don't know?"

" _Know,_ _what?_ " Clary demanded, her voice sounding firmer than she'd expected. Isabelle sighed, and sat down on the couch. She patted the spot next to her, indicating Clary to sit. She did. Isabelle revealed her phone, which was open to Twitter. _Big surprise_. "Look," Isabelle said simply, as Clary took the phone from Isabelle's hands. Clary's eyes roamed the screen, seeing herself, looking backwards. Clary squinted at the screen, as she scrolled through the comments. All of them demanding to know who this "mystery redhead" was. Although, there was still the occasional, _who the hell is that? She's so ugly_. Clary didn't so much as flinch at the comments.

"You're the talk of the internet tonight," Isabelle smiled tiredly at Clary. Clary clicked off Isabelle's phone. "Enough Twitter for tonight," she said, standing up and extending a hand to Isabelle. She took it, and stood. "Let's get to bed, okay? We can talk in the morning."

Isabelle nodded, and padded down the hall, followed by Clary. "Night," Isabelle murmured sleepily, as her door swung closed. "Night, Izzy," Clary said softly, as she turned the knob on her own door.

Her bedroom was still empty, for the most part, lacking colourful walls, and pictures. But it would do, for tonight, anyways. Clary stood in front of her newly-hung mirror, and used a makeup-removing wipe, to get rid of her mascara, discarding the wipe into the trash can near her closet. She pulled her hair up into a pony tail, similar to Iz's, but not quite as nice-looking. She had small bits of frizz popping up, no doubt from the humidity. She sighed internally, not really caring. She was only going to bed, anyways.

Next thing Clary knew, she was laying down in her soft bed, pulling up the comforter under her neck, snuggling into her abyss of pillows. One thought ran through her mind, as she drifted further into the clutches of sleep; _LA was a bad idea_.

* * *

 **Short chapter, I know. Sorry, guys, but I'm just too tired to continue tonight. Expect some entertainment in the next chapter.**

 **That's all I'm willing to give away, sorry.**

 **Until next time.**


	5. Performance

The first thing Clary smelt when she opened her bedroom door, was fresh brewed coffee. All she could do was hope Isabelle hadn't made it. Clary ran her hands down her shirt, suddenly nervous what Isabelle might say about last night.

"Sit." Isabelle ordered, as soon as she spotted Clary. Obediently, Clary hopped up on the counter, and sat, legs crossed, her hands folded in her lap. She raised her eyebrows in question. "Now," Isabelle said. "How did those pictures come about?"

"Simon isn't here, is he?" Clary asked, eyes searching the room. There was no sign he even lived there, save for the only barely visible Xbox, and stack of games. "He went out earlier," Isabelle replied. "About those pictures..."

"I was walking," Clary shrugged. "I went by the Staples Centre, and guess who was performing," Isabelle began to open her mouth, when Clary held up a hand to silence her. "Anyways, some girls were outside, and seen me. They took a picture, but I never figured anyone would pay it any attention." It was the best way Clary could explain, she herself didn't really know what was happening.

"Well, everyone paid attention."

Clary raised her eyebrows at Isabelle, who had pulled up Twitter on her phone. She scrolled down the page furiously, until she reached a certain point. Her eyes scanned the screen, and then she nodded. "This is it," she said, and handed Clary the phone. It was a link to a popular website, that she would never confess to actually reading on her own time, when Isabelle wasn't forcing her.

 _Best Friend?_

 _Gossip City; September 6th, 9:12 am_

 _Rumours have been swirling about, since 19 year old, Jace Herondale, Rockstar, and notorious ladies man, tweeted a mysterious photo of what appears to be him, and a redheaded girl. Of course, in the photo the two seem young, maybe fourteen?_

 _In the tweet, Herondale wrote; Anyone seen my best friend?_

 _The tweet went viral, being re-tweeted over a million times. And just when the buzz around the photo, and this mysterious "best friend" started to die down, another picture of the redhead was captured, last night in front of the Staples Centre. Perhaps said best friend was at the concert. But, we highly doubt it. So, we are left to wonder; why has the Rockstar's best friend been M.I.A for so long?_

There was more in the article, about Jace's friends, and how some that had been interviewed in the past never mentioned anyone with red hair, and then something about his upcoming tour. Clary laughed dryly, and handed the phone back to Isabelle. "What is that?"

"An article," Isabelle said. "Written by one of the most popular blogs, in the world, I might add. Oh, and don't forget, just about every _other_ blog has written about you, too." Clary shook her head in disbelief; this was not happening. All she wanted was to go to college with her best friends, graduate, get a job as an artist, and maybe get married. Nothing that would be too hard to accomplish. But now...

"No." Clary fidgeted with her hands. "This is not happening, it's just a bad dream-scratch that-a terrible dream," Isabelle looked at her pityingly. "Clary, don't worry about it," she tried, but Clary just bit her lip, and stayed silent. "I don't want this," she said quietly, to herself more than to Isabelle.

"How do I fix it?" Clary asked, looking up from her hands. "Fix it?" Isabelle asked, sounding something near shocked. "It's too late for that, Clary. The only thing you can do know, is work it," Clary looked at her questioningly. "Work it?" She asked. "What does that even mean?"

"It means," Isabelle stood up from the table, a wicked grin cracking her face. "We make you hot."

* * *

Clary appraised her appearance in the mirror Isabelle had hung on her wall. Her hair-which she'd already learned to manage on her own, thank you very much-fell in gorgeous, full curls down her back and on her shoulders. Frizz seemed like a foreign concept, now. Her lashes were thick, and long, but looked natural, somehow. Her eyes popped, framed by her lashes. Her lips were tinted a pale red; she was surprised she looked so good with hardly any makeup. But then again, Isabelle was a miracle worker.

But all of that, was nothing compared to her outfit.

She wore a pair of acid wash shorts, and a tight, black tank top, with skinny straps. Her shoes were a pair of red, high top converse. It was completely her style, yet it had that Isabelle undertone to it. Clary grinned at her reflection, as Isabelle held a hand to her heart, in mock pride. "You look so...perfect!" Isabelle wrapped Clary in a hug, squeezing tightly.

"Now what?" Clary pulled away from Isabelle, pulling down on the tank top, in a self-conscious manner. "Now, we go out," Isabelle grinned, as she pulled on a pair of heels. "We let people take pictures of you," she explained. "And, final step, let them get back to Jace."

"This is why we're best friends," Clary said, holding out her arm to Isabelle, who laced her arm through Clary's, as they walked through the doorway-at an only _slightly_ awkward angle-and out onto the streets of LA.

* * *

Clary and Isabelle were making their way to the comic book store near the apartment, were he was mostly likely. The stares they got from guys and girls alike made Clary self-conscious at first, but after a while, she ignored them. They had been walking only a few minutes, and a few people had already stopped to take pictures.

They reached the comic book store, and Clary pushed open the door, Isabelle trailing behind her, her head bent down to look at her phone screen. "Clary," she squealed excitedly. "Look!" She pushed the phone into Clary's face, and Clary took a few stumbling steps backwards. Her eyes focused on the image on the screen. It was her and Isabelle, walking down the sidewalk. Clary smirked slightly, when she saw who had re-tweeted it; _Gossip City_. "The search for the mysterious redhead continues..." Clary read aloud. "Isn't this awesome?" Isabelle said, a certain dreamy tone to her voice. Clary shrugged. "How do we know Jace won't recognize the street, and find us?" She raised an eyebrow. Isabelle waved a dismissive hand, and turned off her phone, shoving it in the pocket of her shorts.

"Because," she said. "By the time he has time to see the picture, and track down the street, we'll be long gone." Isabelle ran her hand along the spines of some comic books on a shelf.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Simon's voice rang out through the somewhat small store, as he appeared seemingly from thin air. He was looking at his phone screen. "Jace replied to Gossip City's tweet-he asked if they knew where you were." Clary gulped, her stomach knotting. 

"He won't find us," Isabelle insisted, but Clary had her doubts. "Not if we're at the apartment," Simon added, and grabbed Clary's wrist, dragging her back through the door.

The sun was becoming unforgiving, and Clary could practically feel her body temperature rising. And it wasn't pleasant. "We can't just hide her in the apartment forever, now can we?" Isabelle demanded, easily keeping up with Simon, as he pulled Clary along behind him. "I never said that," Simon retorted. "But do you really want him to find Clary? She'll start beating him up, for Christ's sake!"

"Hey!" Clary interjected. "I'm still here."

Isabelle waved her hand dismissively, as if to silence Clary. She put her key in the lock of the door, twisting it, and jiggling the key, getting frustrated when the key wouldn't come free of the lock. She mumbled something about wanting to slap Simon upside the head, before finally freeing the key of the lock, and all but kicking in the door. It swung wide open, nearly hitting the wall behind it-it would have, if it weren't for the doorstop. Clary pulled her wrist free of Simon's grip, rubbing it tentatively, and glaring at him. "I'm perfectly capable of walking by my self, thank you very much."

Simon rubbed at his head, as he pushed his glasses up with his free hand. "Well, you'd lose it if he tried to talk to you, wouldn't you?" Isabelle had her arms crossed over her chest, and was tapping her heel angrily, and somewhat impatiently, on the hardwood. Clary shrugged, and let out a lengthy breath. "I don't know, Simon. I don't know," Clary rubbed her temples, as she walked out of the room.

Her bedroom was empty, void of colour, which she didn't like very much. She would certainly have to get on that, but not today. Clary laid down on her bed, her head propped up by her hand, as she laid on her side. She pulled out her phone, and reluctantly pushed the Twitter icon. She wasn't sure she was ready to see all the comments. And what if someone had guessed who she was? Someone she went to high school with-or...

Biting her lip, she opened her eyes, which had been tightly screwed shut. There, at the very top of her feed, was a picture of her, in her acid wash shorts, and a black tank. Her hair looked perfect, along with her makeup-it wasn't a bad picture, all in all. Her and Isabelle were walking down the sidewalk in the picture, arms linked together.

The next picture was of her and Isabelle. Although, they were just entering the comic book store. Clary scrolled through her feed, now slightly more confident. Apparently, no one had captured the moment where she had been all but dragged out of the store by Simon. Clary clicked off her phone, and threw it to the end of her bed, suddenly frustrated by all of this, by _him_. She turned over, so she was laying on her back, and closed her eyes, but still felt the need to cover her eyes with her hand.

She felt drained, not physically, more mentally than anything.

And soon, the world drifted away into blackness, white noise surrounding her.

* * *

Maybe, just maybe, naps in the middle of the day weren't the best possible way to tune out a problem. Because when you woke up, the problem would still be there, the same, if not worse than it had been when you went to sleep.

Just then, Isabelle charged into Clary's room, looking down at her phone screen. "Clary, have you seen this?" She demanded, thrusting her phone out at Clary, who squinted at the screen. "Iz, I've been sleeping," Clary motioned to the messy bed, pillows spilled onto the floor, blankets in the process of doing the same. Isabelle gave a dismissive wave of her hand, and handed her phone to Clary, almost reluctantly.

The screen was bright, forcing Clary to rub at her eyes, trying to adjust to the brightness. Finally, her eyes focused. The image was all too familiar; Jace's profile picture, his username, and a picture with an oddly perfect caption.

It was a picture of her and Isabelle, entering the comic book store. _How is it that everyone_ else _knows where my best friend is?_

Clary wanted to throw the phone at the wall, tug out her hair by the roots-anything that would relieve the raging anger she felt. Sadly, though, nothing would relieve it, or even make it fade, if only fractionally. "WHY?" Clary shouted, falling back onto her back, letting the phone fall wherever it did. And then she felt another set of eyes on hers. These eyes, though, were angry, burning a hole into her.

"You really had to show her that?" Simon demanded, "What are you hoping to achieve?"

Isabelle shrugged. "I want to motivate her," she made it sound as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Clary shot up, back into her previous sitting position. "Motivate me? What on earth would that motivate me to do?"

"I'd like to know, too," Simon leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. They waited for Isabelle's reply, as she picked up her phone from where it had landed on the floor. "I'm glad to hear, that, Simon," Isabelle replied sharply, before turning her attention back to Clary.

"We can't hide you here-it won't work, especially when you do everything people say _not_ to do. But, if we take you out-do things in public, so people get pictures-we can make this whole...endeavor entertaining. What's in it for you, you're probably wondering," Isabelle paused, looking between Simon and Clary who waited impatiently to hear the rest of her "speech."

"Well, he'll never _actually_ find you. Like a wild goose chase," she grinned, "and I have the best idea."

* * *

Isabelle's idea was the best. Maybe the best she'd ever had.

It was risky, sure, but it would be totally worth it. It still amazed Clary that with all those millions upon billions-maybe-of fans, he still hadn't been able to track her down. But didn't he have better things to do? Like record new singles? Or get ready for his impending tour?

But that was his problem, not Clary's.

Maybe half an hour later, Clary had a profile picture of her own, and the perfect comeback to all of Jace's recent tweets-which revolved mostly about her. Sometimes, she thought Isabelle was an evil mastermind in disguise as an abnormally pretty teenage girl. Simon was against the whole idea, which worried Clary a little-Simon was always usually right in the end, when it came to any of Isabelle's plans.

"You remember what to do?" Isabelle asked, for only the hundredth time.

Clary rolled her eyes, "Izzy, you're going to me sitting right beside me _as_ I compose the comment."

Isabelle nodded, fidgeting excitedly with her hands. "Do it," she said hurriedly. "Fast, I want to see this unfold!" She gave Clary a shove to the side, pushing her into the couch's armrest. Clary shot her a glare, before hesitantly tapping on the Twitter icon on her phone's screen. Clary went to Jace's profile, and found his most recent tweet, from today, as Isabelle pulled up Twitter on her own phone.

Simon was hauled up in his room, refusing to watch the whole scenario unfold-but Clary had a sneaking suspicion that he was in there, sitting on his phone, eagerly awaiting Clary's comment.

It was a long shot that Jace would even catch the comment, especially with all the others she would be mixed up with. Either way, Clary began typing, and then reviewed it before she sent it. _Has it ever occurred to you that I don't want you to know?_ Perfect. She tapped send, before her mind could start working, and make her thin of all the ways this could go, before she could regret it. No going back now.

Isabelle was giddy with excitement, even as they waited in an almost tense silence for his reply. It was two minutes, that was all. Two painfully long minutes, before a reply came in Clary's notifications. She let out a breath she hadn't been aware of holding.

 _It has. But I don't think that's the case_. That was his comment. That was it. And she knew exactly what she wanted to say before Isabelle chime in her thoughts. She typed out her reply quicker than she thought she was capable; _I think you're head is a little big, don't you?_

The response was almost immediate, as if he were sitting, waiting her reply out. _And here I thought you might've missed me_. The conversation went on and on from there, replies getting quicker and quicker.

 **Clarissa Fairchild:** _Not a chance, Rockstar._

 **Jace Herondale:** _I'm told I'm hard to forget, so how did you manage it?_

 **Clarissa Fairchild:** _I didn't. But I would sooner let Isabelle turn me into her own personal Barbie doll than be called your best friend._ ****

 **Jace Herondale:** _Ouch. Not the warm and fuzzy reunion I had imagined._

Clary stopped replying after that. Leaving him hanging was probably best, for right now. Soon, there'd be buzz all around this single conversation-if you could even call it that. It was more of a very brief exchange with her stalker, the famous Jace Herondale.

"Oh," Isabelle grinned, looking up from her phone, where she had been avidly following their conversation-thing. "That was interesting, but now, we have to delete your account."

Clary frowned slightly at this, but didn't bother asking, she knew why; so Jace couldn't find her again. "Do it," Clary said, handing over her phone to Isabelle, who clicked and tapped and within a few minutes, she handed back the phone. "Here you go," she said, looking satisfied with her work.

"Thanks," Clary grumbled from where she sat on the couch, directly beside Isabelle. "Do I make a new one now?" Clary raised an eyebrow, well, tried, because both ended up raised. Isabelle shook her head, not bothering to make a comment about Clary's eyebrow's-she was used to them. "No," she replied simply. "Let him think for a while-see what happens," she finished with a shrug.

Clary nodded, unsure of what her next move would be. But one thing she knew for sure? It was fun messing with Rockstar's.

* * *

The next morning, Clary was pulled-reluctantly-out of bed by an excited Isabelle.

She wanted to go out.

 _Yay_.

So, Clary had begrudgingly gotten dressed, brushed her teeth and all that jazz, before pouring herself a cup of coffee, drinking it, and then being rushed out the door by Isabelle. That girl was a hurricane of inky hair, shopping bags, and heels. Hurricane Isabelle, everybody watch out. Simon, not surprisingly, was still sleeping. Clary never understood how boys could sleep for twenty-four hours straight. Sure, she liked sleeping to noon on the weekends, but she always went to bed late, so, really, she didn't sleep that much.

"Clary, come on! Move it!" Isabelle said, puling her down the busy LA sidewalk, narrowly avoiding every other pedestrian. "Where are we going, Iz?" Clary asked, as she was jerked forward by Isabelle. She let out a surprised gasp, and then she was brought to a sudden stop all at once.

"Isabelle-" Clary started, but stopped, when Isabelle held up a finger to silence her. "Shopping, Clary," she said simply, and Clary let out an elongated groan.

Throughout the morning, Clary was pulled from store to store, by a rambunctious Isabelle. She was shoved into dressing rooms, piles of clothes to try on, again and again. And when Clary offered to pay for her choices-which were, obviously, Isabelle approved-Isabelle simply shook her head stubbornly, and headed off to the pay for it all. Clary seriously hated this girl right now.

When they reached the apartment, Clary nearly collapsed under all the weight of the bags. Who knew _clothes_ could weigh so much? There were t-shirts, jeans, tank tops, shoes, dresses-which Clary definitely _didn't_ approve. Most of them barely reaching mid-thigh, if that. Simon was sitting on the couch, playing a video game, which he paused, when he had heard the door open. "Holy crap," he exclaimed. "Izzy, you've got to stop doing this."

"Never gonna happen, Si, you know that," Clary said matter-of-factly.

"See? Clary's accepted it-why can't you?" There was a small frown painting Isabelle's pretty face, but Clary couldn't be sure what had caused it.

"Because, Isabelle," Simon sighed, sinking back into the couch. "These clothes are going to take over the apartment-and you only take her shopping when you're forcing us to go out," Simon raised an accusatory eyebrow. "You're going to make us go out, aren't you?"

Isabelle huffed, putting her bag-clad arms on her hips. "Better to just go with it, Si," Clary rolled her eyes, looking back at Isabelle. "But, I swear to God, if you make me wear a ginormous amount of makeup, I'm flushing all yours down the toilet. Understand?"

Isabelle gulped, nodding frantically, while Simon laughed. Clary smiled triumphantly, towards Simon, of course, of Isabelle would probably force her into the skimpiest dress money could buy. And not to mention, the spiked death traps she calls shoes. Clary shivered at the thought.

Isabelle had disappeared down the hall, presumably to her room, while Clary simply dropped all the bags full of clothes and shoes, sitting down on the couch, next to Simon. "What are we playing?" She grinned.

* * *

How Isabelle had found the club, on such short notice, was a wonder all in itself. And quite apparently, Clary was being punished. Isabelle had shoved a black dress into her ands demanding she change into it, along with a pair of spiked death traps. Knowing there was no way out of it, Clary had conceded, and changed into what Isabelle called a dress. Yeah, right, a dress.

The dress was so tight it could have been a second skin, add that to barely reaching mid-thigh, and you've got yourself an Isabelle Lightwood approved dress. Not to mention the dress was black, and lacy. So very lacy.

Simon had stared, open mouth, wide eyes and all for two minutes straight. That is, until Isabelle had hit him in the arm with her clutch, proclaiming that she looked great, and Simon should feel lucky to be friends with two such gorgeous girls. At that point, his cheeks had been burning bright red, rivaling Clary's inferno hair.

"Clary, move it," Isabelle commanded, pulling her forward in the line. The club was a large place, as far as Clary could tell. Overhead hung a sign that proclaimed the club to be Pandemonium, it had a strange vibe to it, but Clary was already there, dressed in that pathetic excuse for a dress; there was no going back now.

There was noise surrounding Clary, whether it be from the people in line, or just LA in general. The sky was hazy with fog, blocking out the bright stars and the moon. The line behind their small group kept growing, and Clary figured it was just because Pandemonium was a popular club-it _was_ Friday night, after all-but the way they all seemed to vibrate with excitement, Clary wasn't so sure anymore.

Isabelle looked positively amazing in her own dress, that, on Clary, would have gone down to her knees. Around her neck, hung a ruby pendant. Some people would think it would be too flashy, too gaudy, but on Isabelle, it was perfect. That girl could make a trashcan look good.

And then there was Simon. He refused to let Isabelle dress him up-but in what? So he wore a simple band-tee, and worn jeans. On his face, he still wore his black-rimmed glasses, as per usual, and his brown hair still hung down in front of his eyes a little. Not enough to seriously get in his way, but just to enough to annoy both Clary and Isabelle, making them want to push it back every time it fell in his eyes.

After about fifteen minutes, they were at the front of the line, showing their ID's to a dark-skinned, broad man with a black t-shirt, and a headset. He fit the whole "bouncer" profile to a T. It was almost comical. But, the way Clary had watched him throw an underage kid out of line, Clary restrained herself from laughing. He nodded at them, and Isabelle led the way to the gray push doors.

When opened, the doors revealed what seemed to be another world entirely; flashing multi-coloured lights, a black floor, scraped from years worth of dancers' on it, and probably some drunken fights and smashed liquor bottles. It was packed with sweating, dancing bodies. From the girls who wore more skin than clothes, to guys who were going to have the worst hangover tomorrow morning, to the regular people-like Clary and Simon-who were dressed regularly, or in dresses. But nothing about this place was ordinary, Clary felt. Not tonight, anyways.

There was a fully stocked bar, where multiple bartenders worked furiously to try and keep up with the continuously growing crowd. Clary's gaze drifted to the right, as the powerful bass of whatever song was playing made the floor beat almost like a heart. There was a wide, black stage, with spotlights, amps, drums, it looked almost as if there was going to be a concert.

And then, she saw the girls chatting excitedly, the guys-who no doubt had been dragged here by the many widely smiling, excited girls-looking grumpy as ever, standing together, away from all the girls, who were seemingly, also, grouped together. And just then, Isabelle found her way through the thickening crowd, to Clary, holding her phone tightly, her face pale-although, maybe it was just the lights washing her out? Clary seriously doubted that, considering it was _Isabelle_.

"Clary," she said, her voice tight, as Simon stumbled through the crowd, appearing slightly behind Isabelle. "Look at this." There, on screen, was a tweet from none other than Clary's stalker-who also happened to be a world-famous heartthrob-she gulped, eyes widening in slight terror; what if Jace saw her? _Can't wait for my performance at Pandemonium tonight!_

"Iz! What do I do?" Clary squeaked, bring overpowered by all the noise in the club. Isabelle looked deep in thought for a minute, and then she smirked wickedly. "Come with me," and she pulled Clary into a room, which had a girls' symbol on the door-presumably, the bathroom.

The light was bright, and flickered every few minutes, there was an odd buzzing noise coming from it, too. The mirrors had rust in the corner's, same with the sinks, with rust on the faucets. The floor was littered with garbage, and used paper towels. The stalls looked like they would squeak every time they were opened, and there was graffiti all over the white brick walls. The only surface without any was the sink, and she was pretty sure the reason was all the rust on the counter top, the trash on it, and the soggy paper towels strewn about it. She shuddered at the sight.

"Stay still, got it?" Isabelle asked, rummaging through her clutch. In a few seconds, Isabelle had pulled out an assortment of mini hair products, and some makeup. "Who keeps hair products in their purse?" Clary questioned, trying to raise an eyebrow but failing miserably. Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Someone with a best friend like you."

* * *

Isabelle was truly an artist. Clary was sure of it, looking at her reflection in the grimy mirror. Her curls were tamed and calm, falling gorgeously down her back, her lips were painted the same red as a few days before, her eyes bore minimal makeup, with a smoky effect, and long, thick lashes. "How the hell did you manage to do _this_ -" Clary gestured to her face, "with _that_?" She pointed to the small clutch that Isabelle was packing up. Isabelle shrugged. "I'm a miracle worker," she smirked. "Now come on."

And Clary was thrown out of the bathroom door, with a hard shove from Isabelle. The club was dark, lights dancing around, and it sounded like some musicians warming up, because there was drums going and stopping, the strumming of a few guitars.

The music had dropped in volume, making it much easier to hear than before-and all Clary could hear was excited chatter, as people crowded around the stage. And then all the lights went out, as Clary and Isabelle walked, dousing the whole room in darkness. There were shrieks, but overall, conversation. The energy was contagious.

When the multi-coloured lights flicked back on, he was there, standing on stage for all to see; like a museum exhibit. The lights changed his hair from gold, to silver, to amber, to an odd green colour, and then a just as strange blue colour. His eyes sparked with mischief and amusement, as he looked out at the crowd. There was no way he'd notice her, among this sea of people, and given her short stature, it was almost impossible. But, there was always attention-drawing Isabelle, in her sky-high heels, her shiny, sleek black hair and amazing form.

Jace's eyes landed upon her, and he squinted, as if he wasn't sure what he was seeing, but then he drew his attention away, obviously passing her off as someone else. Clary found herself letting out an unintentional breath of relief. He checked his phone quickly, and then he shoved it back into his pocket, grabbing the microphone.

The lights seemed to dim, as a rhythm started out on the drums, sending cheers through the crowd, and then the guitars started, along with the bass, and they were playing. It was a song that seemed familiar, one she'd heard on the radio briefly before immediately turning it off?

"Guys!" Simon shouted over the loud music. "You totally just left me here! Some guys started coming onto me!" he squeaked, visibly shuddering. "Si, it was an emergency-I had to...help Clary," Isabelle smiled sweetly at him, and Clary swore he melted right there, any issue he'd had gone. Out the window. Completely forgotten.

And he started singing. Clary would be lying if she said he couldn't sing-because he could, very well at that. And the way he moved around the stage...he had the same confidence as she remembered, probably more-what with his gigantic fan club of screaming girls who would willingly sell their souls to Satan just to have him smile at them. He was different than when he was fourteen, Clary knew that from his pictures all over the internet, but seeing him in person was a whole different thing; he was muscled, and filled out, he had gotten taller, and just...hotter.

Okay, so what if she thought he was hot? She used to have a crush on him, so it was only natural, right? Any girl who said he wasn't good looking, had to be out of their minds, but that didn't change the fact that Clary would easily pass up a date with him. She would easily step out into traffic than go out with him, if that's what it came down to.

Isabelle was dancing, catching the bored guys' attention, who she pointedly ignored. Clary was a little more awkward, standing there, arms crossed over her chest, a glare set on her face just in case the Golden God himself got a glimpse of her. But...wait, shouldn't she try to look _amazingly hot_ in case he saw her? That seemed like it would be the more effective option than glowering at him-something he wouldn't likely notice.

So, Clary started dancing with Isabelle. And surprisingly-like _very_ surprisingly-she wasn't all that bad. Isabelle must have realized what Clary was trying to accomplish, and drew the attention of many, even girls. Lights flashed, people cheered and shrieked with pure excitement, and Clary was catching the excitement in the air, breathing it in, it felt like.

He was singing a different song now, and the crowd was rowdy and wild. But what else would you expect from a club with a certain "Golden God" playing? Clary laughed, her smile wide-she was actually having fun, the complete opposite of what she thought was going to happen. Sometimes she surprised herself. Simon was standing awkwardly on the sidelines, rubbing his arm sheepishly. Clary grinned evilly at him, and pulled hard on his hand, causing him to stumble forward, tripping over his own feet. He stood up quickly, pushing his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose, where they belonged, and ran his hands down his shirt, trying to get out any wrinkles.

"Dance with me, Si," Clary smiled at him, and it wasn't forced. Not in the slightest. Simon raised a eyebrow at her, but conceded a moment later, and began dancing awkwardly with Clary and Isabelle. Isabelle was being twirled around by Simon, her hair flying all around in the air. Boys were giving Simon envious looks, some gave glares, while others settled for a jealous pout. Next, Simon grabbed Clary's hand, holding it high in the air while she twirled, small giggles escaping her. Normally, she wouldn't be like this without alcohol having been consumed, but not a drop had touched her tongue, and she couldn't wrap her head around that fact.

The song changed, and Clary actually found herself enjoying it.

 _It's so fake, this world of ours._

 _More satellites than shooting stars; they're all around._

 _Yeah, their broken hearts on the boulevard,_

 _You know this world will leave you scarred and let you down._

Jace's voice was a sweet melody of sound against the screams of his fan girls. Clary even considered singing along to the words, but decided against it; this was still _Jace_.

 _By leaving here with you, one of you will be living on the dark side._

 _Yeah, right here, right now, we'll leave this crowded room._

When Clary thought of Jace singing, she certainly didn't think of the sweet melodic sound it was, more the sound of a dying whale chorus.

 _I'll take your body to the moon._

 _Then I'll let you turn it around._

 _Girl, let's show me something new._

 _Let me watch you take it off now._

 _Baby we don't need these lights,_

 _'cause you'll be seeing stars tonight._

 _I'll take your body to the moon._

And she definitely didn't think of sexual references when she thought of Jace singing-well, that was a lie, sometimes she thought that was _all_ she could hear in his songs.

 _Let's fly._

 _Let's fly._

 _Let's not complicate the night._

 _Just look up, everything is black and white._

 _If the universe is you and I, then I know everything is gonna be alright._

 _So tell me, what do you have to lose? Don't you let this moment pass you by._

 _Yeah, right here, right now, we'll leave this crowded room._

The song ended, and the sound faded out, no new sound filling Clary's ear drums, as she looked up from where she danced with Isabelle and Simon, and a crowd of people. Jace was drinking from his water bottle, and fishing his phone out of his pocket. "We'll be back in five," a loud voice said from somewhere Clary could only imagine was the DJ booth.

Jace and his band disappeared off stage, Jace was scrolling through something on his phone as he walked off stage, Clary could only assume he was on Twitter...again. How many times a day did he check that stupid app?

Isabelle, too, was on her phone, Simon hovering over her shoulder. "Clary look at us," she grinned, shoving the phone in Clary's face. _She does that a lot_ , Clary thought to herself. There was a picture of Clary and Isabelle, each being twirled around by Simon, one girl in each hand, laughing and smiling along with him. "Send that to me," Clary smiled, looking at Isabelle over the phone. "Or can you do that?"

"Yeah, I'll do it right now," Isabelle said, tapping away. She cursed herself for not brining her phone with her-but, really, what use was it to her?

Clary looked around, to see the same thing as before Jace had started singing; chattering people, girls wearing _Jace Herondale_ t-shirts. Then, Jace wondering back out on stage, looking out at the crowd-and then it clicked; he was looking for _her_. Clary tried to discretely duck behind Simon, but he turned around, looking at her strangely. "What? What are you hiding from?" He asked. That was when Isabelle whacked him with her clutch again, raising her eyebrows at him. It should be obvious, but then again, most guys were always clueless. "Jesus Christ, Izzy!" He scowled at her. "What did I do?"

Isabelle opened her mouth, as if to speak, but only pointed to the stage, where Jace was still looking out at the crowd. "Oh," Simon said. " _Oh_." _Now he's got it_ , Clary thought, exasperatedly.

Jace's expression changed, and he stopped moving his head around, his eyes locking on Isabelle. It seemed to click in place for him, too, because he was rushing backstage, and appeared in the crowd only seconds later. "Looks like we're cutting our night short," Isabelle said, tugging on both Clary and Simon's wrists. "Yeah, definitely," Clary agreed, and followed Isabelle as she tried to quickly maneuver them through the crowd.

They were at the gray doors again, Isabelle pushing them open, her grip on Clary and Simon being released, as she walked out, followed by Simon. Clary was cut off by a large group of people walking through, and in just that short amount of time, someone had pinned her against the wall, encaging her with their arms.

 _Oh crap_ , Clary's mind whirled. She glared up at him, gold clashing head on with green. "Clary," he breathed, looking her up and down. "You look...different."

Clary rolled her eyes, " _Really?_ I never noticed in the past four years," she said, spitting sarcasm onto his perfect face. Was he really going to try and keep her there? Jace simply smirked at her. "You know, most girls would kill for this?"

"Good for them," Clary said, and ducked under his arm, slipping through the exit.

* * *

 **Hey guys! Finally an update-I'm so sorry, I've just been working on this chapter for a while, making sure it was perfect.**

 **Lots of things went down in this chapter. Tell me what you think!**

 **The song that Jace sung is _Moon_ by _The Cab_**

 **I just really hope it was worth your wait.**

 **:)**


	6. The Person Wearing His Face-Part One

"I can't believe it," Isabelle said in disbelief. "You actually said that?"

Clary rolled her eyes, while Simon let out an annoyed groan. "For the hundredth time, yes, Iz, I did." She had had to recite, word for word, her meeting with Jace. It was getting rather annoying, Isabelle asking the same questions repeatedly. "And here you thought she couldn't be civil with him," Isabelle tilted her head up in triumph, while Simon, too, rolled his eyes.

"Okay, well we need to celebrate," Isabelle stood up from the table, both her hands flat against the wood. "Where do you want to go?" she asked excitedly.

Simon shrugged, along with Clary. "We could always go back to that club. I had fun last night," Clary suggested. She never thought she'd ever be caught dead saying that, but there she was, not a hint of regret in her words-she'd done nothing worthy of regret, anyways. Except, restrain from punching Jace, and messing up the oh-so-perfect face his fans loved.

Isabelle looked absolutely ecstatic, "okay," she grinned. "Perfect, I'll go pick out outfits for tonight," and she was gone from the room, skipping excitedly down the hall. Simon looked at her like she was insane. "You have a crush on that," Clary reminded him, through a mouthful of coffee.

Simon shook his head, laughing, "don't remind me."

* * *

Night had come especially quick, and they were once again in line to get into Pandemonium. Isabelle's inky hair fell down her back, framing her model-like features. Her outfit was especially impressive; a tight, white dress-that Clary was sure would fall to her knees or lower-with a corset belt, and knee-high, black boots. Simon, once again, refused Isabelle's offer for help with picking out his clothes, and wore another old band tee and a pair of jeans-Clary was almost positive they were the same pair he'd worn the day before.

Clary's outfit, though, was quite similar to the night before; a black dress, although this one had long, black lace sleeves. It, of course, barely reached her mid-thigh, something she was _so_ not okay with, but knew it would make Isabelle happy to see her in it. On her feet, another pair of spiked death traps. Tonight, though, she had Isabelle do her makeup before they left. She looked pretty much the same as the night before, and she was completely okay with it.

When they got to the front of the line, and the bouncer was checking their ID's, Clary noticed a sign perched near the doors; _Jace Herondale performs live tonight!_ Clary's stomach knotted up in a bundle of nerves, but she tried to play it off fine. He was only a boy, after all-an extremely hot boy, but a boy nonetheless. He had no power over her, and she would never let him have any. _Yeah, right_.

The bouncer nodded, and once again, Isabelle had the lead, as they followed her into the crowded club.

It was smoky, and kind of cloudy, the air thick. It wasn't just from excitement, either. There were smoke machines placed haphazardly around the club, and Clary could only imagine how many more there were that she couldn't see. The lights flashed, turning people's skin to unnatural colours. Everyone was dancing, or lounging by the fully-stocked bar, where just like the previous night, bar tenders worked furiously to keep up with the intense pace, and quickly growing crowd. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, and liquor. She could practically taste the alcohol the smell was so intense.

Simon looked uncomfortable, Clary didn't blame him, this wasn't their scene. Usually, they stayed on the sidelines during events like this that Isabelle dragged them to, but tonight was different, for some reason. Next thing either of the two knew, they were dragged into the sea of pulsing, sweating people. It was easy to be invisible, Clary thought, in such a big crowd. But with Isabelle around, they were anything but invisible; guys staring, mouths open and all-Clary swore she even caught some quickly wiping drool away-while girls stared in envy or jealousy.

The stage was set up, drums, amps, microphones, and just like Clary expected, the lights went off, and when they turned back on, Jace stood there. His eyes glowed mischievously, the multi-coloured strobe lights changing his hair different colours. Okay, so maybe her crush on Jace hadn't faded.

His eyes searched the crowd, as if sizing the group up. There was a guy with dark hair, hanging in his eyes, a guitar-or was it a bass guitar?-hanging from his shoulders, his one hand holding the neck of it. Clary hadn't noticed, but Jace had one hanging around his body, too, it was painted a bright vibrant red, attention catching. He nodded his head at the guy, who started strumming out a rhythm on his guitar, followed by the drums kicking in, and the other guitarist. And then Jace started singing, his voice filling the club, bouncing off the dark walls.

His gaze held such intensity, concentration, it was almost comical, Clary thought, as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her gaze was blocked, a second later by an average-height person. Even in heels, she wasn't all that tall-especially since she flat out refused to wear the eight-inch death traps Isabelle had originally picked out for tonight.

Isabelle had taken Simon's hand, and was twirling around, smiling so widely Clary thought for sure her face might split right down the middle-but who was she kidding? It was Isabelle Lightwood, nothing like that would ever happen to her. Simon caught Clary's look, and held out his other hand for her to take. She did without hesitation, twirling around like a five-year old girl in a princess dress. Everyone in the crowd was dancing, seemingly mesmerized by Jace's voice-but that wasn't why Clary was dancing and enjoying herself; her friends were the cause of that.

As quickly as it had started, the song was over and another was starting. It had a certain high-energy to it, one Clary found herself liking-although she'd never admit that out loud. Isabelle was singing along-even though she probably didn't know the words, as Simon laughed at her poor singing efforts. The girl was pretty, but she couldn't sing to save her life.

"Clary!" Isabelle grabbed her by the wrists, "dance with me!" And they were swung into motion, moving side to side, spinning around like middle-schoolers having a dance party in their bedrooms. If she had been anyone else observing this, she would have laughed, hard, at that.

When Clary looked around her again, Simon was watching with great amusement, as they danced, and Clary realized they were much closer to the stage then she would have liked. So much for being invisible. Jace wasn't paying them much attention, no, he was looking out at the back of the crowd, singing the lyrics almost automatically, as if programmed to do so, as he squinted-like he was looking for something- _someone_. Clary stopped herself, before she very nearly blurted out, _over_ _here, dumbass!_

That would not have been good. What would she have even said after that? Being scared and nervous, and just not wanting to have an actual conversation with him, she would have run out, probably. She didn't want to even think of herself doing something so cowardly, it sounded so pathetic, even in her head. Just the possibility that she would do it in real life made her curse herself for being afraid of him, of all people.

And then, Clary's gaze lifted up, and his went down, to the front of the crowd. His eyes locked on hers, and she thought on her toes, giving a bored expression, one she only hoped hid her anxiousness well. Her stomach was knotted so much she wasn't sure if it would ever untie itself again, and her pulse quickened, and she felt as if he could tell, just by looking at her. His blank, confused expression swiftly changed to a smirk, as he sang again and again into the microphone. He wasn't like she remembered him, and she had to remind herself that it had been four-almost five years since she'd last actually seen him-in person, not on some screen, that she wanted to smash.

Back then, he had had his smirks, and all that stuff, but something about it now was different, and she didn't lie whatever it was. Isabelle had stopped dancing, and had an eyebrow raised at Clary curiously. In response, Clary motioned with her head up at the Rockstar, who's attention was-thankfully-elsewhere at the moment. Isabelle furrowed her brows in thought, and then grinned wickedly at Clary. That meant she was going to do something Clary wasn't going to like.

"Hey, Rockstar!" Isabelle shouted up at the stage-at him. She was barely heard over the roaring of the crowd, of Jace's adoring fan club. But, like some miracle, Jace had heard her, his gaze lazily drifting over the crowd, until it landed on Isabelle-which meant it also landed on Clary. He didn't say anything-of course he couldn't, he was singing. "Did you miss us?" She asked teasingly, as if baiting him with something he could never have-challenging him, it seemed.

And, just like that, the song was over and the last notes played through the loud speakers. "We'll be back in ten minutes!" A voice came over the speakers, causing the crowd to disperse a little bit, as Jace set his microphone back down on the stand, his guitar slung over his shoulder, as he walked over to the edge of the stage, crouching down. "My, my," he smirked, "what a surprise." From his tone, though, Clary knew he thought the exact opposite, and she wanted to smack him for it.

"I'm so sure," Simon deadpanned from behind them. Clary snapped her gaze over to Isabelle, who still had that mischievous, wicked glint in her eyes, telling Clary just to go with her on whatever she was planning. "Jace, what are you doing?" Someone questioned him, but he simply ignored them, and soon enough, they went away.

"I see you've brought rat-boy," he remarked, his head motioning to Simon.

Clary hated him so much, and she couldn't put her finger on _why_. So instead, she turned on her heel and walked away, feeling his hot gaze on her back. She didn't care what Isabelle had in mind, she was so over tonight. All Clary wanted to do was go back to the apartment, wipe off all the makeup-which actually wasn't much-peel off the tight dress, pull on some sweats, and watch horror movies, or maybe American Horror Story...she was always in the mood for some Evan Peters.

"Leaving so soon?" His voice was silky, as it floated through the air towards her. The club was packed, the air thick with smoke, the room was dark, with only strobe lights providing and illumination. "Yep," Clary said, not slowing her stride, as she moved through the thick crowd. Of course, people would part a crowd just for him to walk by, he was a himself, after all. So it was no surprise, when Jace matched her stride easily, as she tried not to trip in the things Isabelle and so many other girls called shoes. "You didn't miss me?" He feigned hurt, but the look in his eyes told Clary maybe there actually was some hurt there. As quick as it had come, it was gone, his expression bored, almost. "Why would you ever think that?" Clary asked, her gaze flipping over to him.

"I'm unforgettable, I'm told," he mused. "I thought I would've left a lasting impression on you, of all people." He smirked, and Clary rolled her eyes. "Why? Because you kissed me? Or because we were friends?"

"Both," he grinned.

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, Blondie," Clary stopped in the crowd, her hands hanging down by her sides. "But I'm not some hopeless fangirl who's going to swoon over you, or chase after you, for that matter." Jace shrugged. "I know you're not, because I know you."

Clary stepped closer to him, her eyes narrowing at him, "you know nothing, anymore, _Jonathan_ ," he winced at his full name. "And I've no intention of changing that."

Jace took a step towards her, no smirk plastered on his face, just a look she knew all too well; _you're on_. "I know you Clarissa, whether you like that or not, we've known each other for well over ten years. You think five years can change that?" He raised an challenging eyebrow. Clary was almost afraid to respond, because she knew if she did, she would be accepting that challenge. And she didn't even know the challenge. "I know so," Clary retorted after a moment, her voice barely heard over the loud audio of the club. Jace was stepping towards her, each step making her heart beat faster in his chest, something she didn't like, something she wanted to stop. Immediately.

And the next thing Clary knew, she was pinned against the wall, just like the night before, his arms encaged her small form. He was looking down into her eyes, his usually bright gold ones turning darker, a strange look passing over his face. "You're lying, Clary," he said, his breath fanning over Clary's skin, bringing on a set of goose bumps and a shiver she worked furiously to hide-it seemed to work in her favour, for once. "I don't see why you'd care," Clary retorted sharply. "I am not one of your fangirls, nor am I your best friend," Clary put her hands on his chest, and with all the strength she could muster, pushed at him. It surprised him, that much was obvious from how he stumbled backwards a few steps. "And as far as I'm concerned, you're just some pompous Rockstar I hate."

Clary crossed her arms over her chest, and worked her way through the crowd to the door, leaving behind someone who wore the skin of her best friend, but wasn't him. Not by a long shot.

* * *

Clary was curled up on the couch, moving around restlessly in her warm blanket. She was watching season one of American Horror Story, and there were no words for how good looking Evan Peters was.

As soon as she'd gotten home, Clary had whipped off the death traps, throwing them at the wall, angry at _him_. Angry at the person that had taken over her best friend. Then, she'd stormed into the bathroom, furiously wiping the makeup from her face, then peeling off the ridiculously tight dress. Tonight had been awful. And not because she'd seen Jace, no that wasn't the reason. It was because that wasn't _her_ Jace-that wasn't the Jace she had known for ten years. Of course Clary knew people changed, but not that drastically. He went from being this smart-ass, sarcastic, charming, sweet boy, to someone who disgusted Clary. He seemed pompous, and self-centered, like he was the kind of guy that would use his looks and charm to get a girl into bed. And that absolutely disgusted Clary. Anyone who did that disgusted Clary.

At that exact moment, as Clary was having a very serious conversation with herself internally, the door swung open with the jingling of keys. "I told you she'd be here, Simon," Isabelle nearly yelled, sounding exasperated. "Oh," Clary said from her spot on the couch, pivoting her head to look at her friends. Isabelle looked absolutely furious; her face burning red, her chest moving up and down heavily, and just the way she walked told Clary she was angry. Simon looked it too, his hair dishevelled-probably from running his hand through it, something he tended to do when he was stressed, anxious or angry-his face an angry pink colour. And her final indicator? The way he slammed his door after storming down the hallway.

"What happened, Iz?" Clary asked, as Isabelle paced back and forth in front of the couch, looking in deep thought. But all the same, her head snapped up when she heard Clary talking. "You're right to hate him," Isabelle said, clenching her hands into fists at her sides, repeating this motion at least ten times before speaking again. "He came back to talk to us after you left," she laughed bitterly. Isabelle sounded exhausted-Jace, no matter who inhabited his skin, did that to people.

"He got mad at me, at _me_!" Isabelle yelled angrily at no one in particular, like Jace had materialized in the air in front of her. "Demanding to know what I'd said to get you to hate him. And you know what I told him? I told him that you had every right to hate him, the way he left you-a kiss?! Are you kidding me? It's, like, one of the most cliché goodbyes ever-and even so, the girls in movies usually get an actual 'goodbye'!" Isabelle sounded so exasperated, like she knew there was no way she was going to win this argument with the Jace that was probably screaming at her inside of her own head.

"Clam down, Iz," Clary said, patting the spot on the couch beside her. Isabelle sat down, kicking off her heels, sinking into the plush cushions. "I put him in his place, too," Clary assured her.

Isabelle smiled at Clary, seemingly empowered by what she was about to say. "Guess what else?" Clary shrugged, not even bothering to guess-there was at least a million possibilities when both Isabelle and Jace were involved.

"He got mad about what you were wearing, saying it didn't even reach mid-thigh," Isabelle snorted. "I told him you could wear whatever you wanted, gave him the finger, and walked out of there," Clary clapped, applauding her best friend. "You have no idea how long I've waited to do that," Isabelle added, as an after thought.

"Wish I would've, too," Clary agreed, playing with the television remote. Isabelle turned to Clary, looking tired. "What _did_ you say to make him so angry, anyways?"

"Well, long story short, I told him he was a pompous Rockstar that I hated and left," Isabelle burst out laughing, laughing until she was gasping for air, clutching her stomach. She was making a wheezing sound almost, rocking back and forth, still gasping for air, when she finally managed to speak, "no wonder he was so pissed," and she continued her laughing fit.

After a few minutes, Clary was tired of the bit, figuring Isabelle was over-tired, she tapped Isabelle, "shut up now, okay? I'm trying to watch Evan Peters." Isabelle stopped a few seconds later, still trying to catch her breath, as she undid the corset belt around her waist. Isabelle threw it onto the floor, it made a loud noise, but both of them only bothered with it for a moment, before Isabelle demanded, "play it. I want to get my daily does of Evan Peters, too," Clary laughed, and pressed play, leaning against Isabelle, who in turn leaned against Clary, too.

* * *

 **New chapter! Yay!**

 **Hope you guys liked it, I certainly enjoyed writing it.**

 **So, that's all for now.**

 **Leave me a review? Pretty Please?**

 **:)**


	7. The Person Wearing His Face-Part Two

Sunlight poured through the window, waking clary with it's intensity. She groaned, shifting her head to crack her neck. She only stopped when each side had made a satisfying cracking noise, leaning her head against the back of the couch. Isabelle still lay against Clary's small side, her hair didn't even look messy, for Christ's sake. Her makeup, which she'd forgotten to take off, was smudged, but not in a bad way; the smudged black eyeliner and mascara should've made her look like a racoon, but instead, it made her look like some sort of smoldering French film star. Clary honestly hated Isabelle for being so perfect.

"Izzy," Clary shook her. Isabelle groaned in response, moving her head away from the intensely bright sun. "Iz, wake up, damn it," Clary cursed, none too gently poking Isabelle in the forehead with the tip of her finger. Isabelle smacked her hand away, making a quite unattractive snoring noise. "You've left me no choice," Clary sighed, before she started tickling Isabelle's neck. She started to react instantly, her eyes snapping open, as she tried to wriggle away from Clary and her tickling fingers. Clary smirked smugly at Isabelle, who had ungraciously fallen off of the couch. Isabelle glared at her in response, standing up, and stretching her arms over her head. "I'm going to get coffee," she announced. "You coming?"

"Uh, Iz," Clary stood up, her legs numb from Isabelle leaning on them. "You might want to take off that makeup before we go," Isabelle wiped at her under eyes, and when the side of her hand came away black, she nodded in agreement, disappearing down the hall, and into the bathroom. Clary looked down at her three-sizes-too-big shirt, and decided that it wasn't fit to be seen in public, and went to change.

Clary had pulled on a pair of acid wash shorts she'd found on the floor of her room, and a white, watercolour-stained shirt. She hadn't bought it that way, it looked that way because she'd deemed it her "watercolour painting shirt." And plus, he was missing art, so just wearing the shirt made her feel a little better about it. Slipping on her green sneakers, not caring if they didn't go with her shirt or shorts, she quickly checked her reflection in the mirror. Her hair wasn't even messed up, really, just a few strands out of place, which she was easily able to smooth down. Clary nodded at her reflection, and left her room, to find Isabelle waiting for her, looking as perfect as ever in a white halter top and shorts, the ruby pendant still hanging from her throat.

"Ready?" She asked, yawning mid-sentence. "I suppose," Clary replied, shuffling her feet over to the door, reaching into her pocket, digging around for spare money. Her hand came out holding a ten-she'd treat them to coffee's. Or maybe, she'd treat herself to a large coffee and a bagel.

* * *

They found a quiet coffee shop after walking for about ten minutes, the sign overhead illegible, ruined from years of wear and tear, probably. Clary pushed open the door, a bell chiming through the air, as Isabelle followed her inside. The air was thick with the aroma of coffee and fresh-baked goods. It was hard to find a place that actually _baked_ their food back in New York. So in her mind, this place sounded pretty promising.

Clary and Isabelle got in line behind a tall man with brown hair, waiting as he droned on and on to the barista. Finally, he moved out of the way, and Clary ordered first, stepping up to the counter. She ended up ordering a large, black coffee and a bagel with cream cheese, while Isabelle ended up ordering a latte with a shot of espresso, and a blueberry muffin. The girls waited further down the counter for their orders. Clary's eyes flicked down to the receipt she held in her left hand. _September_ _8th_ _2015_ , it read at the top, right under their name.

Isabelle nudged her in the ribs with her elbow, making Clary wince, rubbing at her ribs, while glaring up at Isabelle, "what the hell, Iz?" Clary demanded. Isabelle simply motioned her head at the register, where your order was taken. And surprise, surprise; a gorgeous golden-haired, golden-eyed Rockstar stood there, trying to order his food while the barista tried desperately too flirt with him. She was batting her eyelashes so much it looked like she had something in her eye, and she was smiling so wide Clary _knew_ her mouth would hurt afterwards. Jace handed over his money, and shoved the change into his jeans pocket, as he walked over to where you pick up your order. He didn't even look up as he stood beside the girls, who were silent, not a breath released.

Someone placed Isabelle and Clary's orders on the counter, and they were forced to give a, "thank you," and a smile to the guy, who smiled in return, before turning back to his work.

Clary knew there was no chance he wouldn't recognize their voices, and sure enough he did, his gaze flickering up from his phone. He looked Clary up and down, saying nothing, and then when he looked at Isabelle, he glared, full on. It was a hard, cold stare Clary knew she wouldn't voluntarily be on the receiving end of. Although, she ad to give it to Isabelle, she was doing very good returning the glare with ten times more hatred packed behind it.

"Nothing to say, Herondale?" Isabelle bit out. "Or are you still not over your little temper tantrum?" She raised a mocking eyebrow. Jace was still glaring, but before he could even respond, Clary found herself telling Isabelle, "I'm gonna head back, have fun with your cat fight, okay?"

Immediately, both Jace and Isabelle's gaze drifted down to her. Clary, even after all theses years, couldn't get over his eyes, that must be contacts, and the hair so golden- _too_ golden-that it must be dyed. Isabelle nodded, at the same time that Jace said, " Pompous Rockstar that you hate, huh? That hurts, Clary," he said, feigning hurt. Clary rolled her eyes. "I'm too tired for this," she muttered, trying to get past him.

But Jace wasn't about to let her get away, something Clary anticipated. "What do you want me to do, Jace? Because if you're expecting me to fall for those stupid puppy dog eyes you used to make at me, I have a few choice words for you," Clary said, rubbing at her left eye, her other hand holding her cup of coffee and the bag in which contained her oh-so delicious smelling bagel.

"Please do enlighten me," Jace, said, a light smirk on his face, as he watched Clary's face. Clary held up four fingers. "Four words, Jace, four words. Screw off," Clary said, as Isabelle watched Clary like she knew her next move already. "That's only two, my dear Clarissa," Jace said, his tone flat.

This remark, only empowered Clary's actions more, as she held up her middle finger at him. "Four, Jonathan, that's four," Clary said, and walked to the door. She pulled it open, and the chime of bells sounded again, she barely heard them, though, over the sweet, sweet sound of triumph; Jace stuttering for something to say to her retreating form.

* * *

Clary was still feeding off of Jace's reaction that morning, her mood having increased greatly. She had even agreed when Isabelle asked if she wanted to go shopping. Her mouth had hung open, her dark brown eyes wide with shock. "Clary are you feeling alright?" She'd rushed over, feeling Clary's forehead with the back of her hand. After having assured Isabelle she was fine, they went out to multiple shops, where Clary voluntarily tried on clothes, playing the part of Isabelle's favourite doll for a few hours.

That was also the reason she'd let Isabelle give her a makeover, which included some painful eyebrow plucking, trimming and waxing-why Isabelle had waxing equipment, Clary'd never know-then, Isabelle had done Clary's hair like she had so many times before. She felt like nothing could ever pop the balloon she was floating on, way up on cloud nine. Not even Simon, who was still grouchy every time he came out of his room.

Now, Clary and Isabelle sat on swings next to each other, swinging softly. Clary had wanted to go for a walk, only to be joined by Isabelle, who had more than happily joined Clary in on swinging. "Are you sure you're not on drugs, Clary?" Isabelle questioned, raising an eyebrow at Clary, who had a content look plastered over her face. "No drugs needed, Iz," Clary smiled lazily at her friend. Isabelle's hair blew around in the wind, but Clary somehow knew that when Isabelle brushed it later on, there would be no cursing heard from the bathroom as she tried to brush out the knots, because there wouldn't _be_ any knots. "The expression on his face is enough to make me like this."

Isabelle laughed, shaking her head back and forth. "I didn't tell you what he said after you left, did I?" Clary furrowed her eyebrows, "no, you didn't. Spill." She commanded.

Isabelle gripped the metal chain in both of her hands, looking at Clary. "He said absolutely nothing. He just stood there, stuttering, looking at the door until someone came inside and told him it was time to go," Clary laughed, hunching over on the swing. "Jace has a babysitter," Clary mused, standing up from the swing, brushing her hands off on her pants. "He does," Isabelle humoured her.

"Let's go back," Clary suggested, waiting as Isabelle stood up from her own swing. Both of their swings swung back and forth gently, the momentum slowly leaving them. "I want to finish watching Murder House," Clary declared, lacing her arm in Isabelle's, as they left the park, silence hovering over them like a cloud.

* * *

Simon still hadn't come out of his room, and it was getting to the point where Clary wondered how he was surviving without his video games in there. But, that was Simon's problem.

Isabelle was picking at a piece of pepperoni pizza, a long strand of mozzarella cheese hung over the side of her plate, onto the table. Isabelle was _so_ on dishes duty. "Did you notice that car following us home this morning?" Isabelle asked, she sounded distracted, as she tore at the crust with her manicured fingers. Clary frowned around a mouthful of pizza, gulping it down, she replied, "what are you talking about?" Although, it sounded muffled as she tried to scarf down the rest of the sole slice of pizza in her hand.

"The black car," Isabelle looked up from her pizza, "it followed me back, since I left a little after you did." Clary furrowed her eyebrows in thought, could someone have followed her and Isabelle back to the apartment? But who would be interested in two college students? Then, as if planned, there was knocking on the front door. It got increasingly louder, as Isabelle and Clary just stared in the direction of the door. Finally, probably annoyed, Simon's door opened up and he stormed to the front door, pulling it open. There was muted conversation, and then the slamming of a door. "Don't answer the door," Simon said in a low tone, walking past the kitchen. Clary and Isabelle exchanged curious glances, before both getting up from where they sat. Isabelle's chair scarped against the floor, as she pushed it back.

"What was that about?" Isabelle muttered, a perfectly plucked eyebrow raised at the air. Clary shrugged in reply, as three more loud, strong-sounding knocks sounded through the apartment. Isabelle was already half way down the hallway, almost to Simon's door, when Clary turned around and was walking the opposite way. Away from her friends. The knocks grew louder, stronger, more impatient, as they came more frequently. Clary frowned at the air, as she neared the front door. Time was being sluggish, dragging on in the time it took her to get her hand around the knob, and twist.

Clary frowned at the feet of the person, whoever they were, and her gaze drifted upwards. Simon was right; she shouldn't have answered the door.

* * *

His hand was poised to knock again, an angry, impatient expression painted his face. In the dark cover of night, his hair had this dark glow about it, and his eyes turned to wild fire when his attention focused on her. She was scared, so, so very scared. And she didn't know why.

"Leave," Clary said, her hand still on the knob, trying to close the door on him. He shouldn't be here-this was _her_ space. "I don't think so," he said. His voice was smooth, melodic, unwavering, and calculated, like he'd been planning her exact reaction in his head, mapping out his own responses. "How are you here?" She asked, green eyes looking at him, but not _at_ him-more so through him, searching for the person that used to be there. She was disappointed by what she found-walls, walls and more walls, enclosing whoever was wearing his face, keeping them hidden from the cruel gaze of the public eye.

He had been talking, but Clary hadn't been listening, consumed in her own thoughts. "Clary?" He waved a hand in front of her face, which she pushed away. Touching him sent tiny little electric shocks through her, lingering in her hand, up her arm. Up and down her back, they went. "How did you find my apartment?" Clary demanded, knowing full and well that he hadn't answered her question even as she'd zoned out. He had always been the type to dance around a question, never giving you an exact answer.

Silence answered her question, one that had started bouncing around in her mind; had he been in the car that followed Isabelle home? "You followed Isabelle, didn't you?" Clary asked, her green eyes finding his gold ones. All the times she'd seen him since coming to LA, there had never been any true emotion in his eyes, his face showing you a mocking one-one most people were convinced by. Clary knew better, all of his emotions, hat he was feeling, lied in his eyes-no matter who was inhabiting his body.

He looked guilty.

"I didn't-I mean-I, um-I, uh," he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Clary leaned against the doorframe, her light weight making it creak slightly. "Why are you here, Jace? I know it isn't because you missed me or Isabelle-if you had you would have called during those five years we heard nothing of you," Clary said flatly. Her mind was elsewhere, not really focused, but not really in space, either.

Jace cleared his throat, shaking off his previous bout of nervousness, or guiltiness-whatever it had been, and looked her directly in the eyes. "I'm not allowed to visit with friends?" He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You have friends? How much do you have to pay them to put up with you?" Clary asked, her tone still flat, this time, though, with a hint of boredom. Silence followed her question. "Are you done yet? I'd like to get to bed," Clary said, checking her imaginary watch for the time, then yawning, to further press her point.

"You're not Clary," Jace said to himself, turning away from Clary slightly. She straightened, standing defiantly in the doorway. Her arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows raised. "And you're not Jace, just someone who wears his face," Clary retorted. He froze. Even with his back to her, Clary could tell she'd set him on edge, by the tension in his shoulder blades, and the sharp intake of breath.

"Things change," he said, back still to Clary.

"Think about that the next time you look at me," Clary said quietly, remembering her conversation with Isabelle the previous night, telling her about how Jace had went off at her about herself. Jace nodded, his golden curls bouncing slightly with the movement. And then he was gone, walking off, down the oddly quiet street.

* * *

Clary had kept yesterdays incident with a certain Rockstar to herself, not knowing how Isabelle and Simon would react. She hadn't slept, even though she could barely keep her eyes open when she sat down on the small windowsill last night. And that was where she was still perched, even with the smell of coffee drifting under the crack of her door, she wouldn't budge. Her legs seemed numb, no matter how much she moved them-all of her felt numb.

Something about last night was eating at her, and she didn't know what. Was it the fact that for once she'd seen a real emotion come from the robot wearing his pretty face? That was the reason Clary had narrowed it all down to, and it seemed more than reasonable, because, well...it reminded her of her Jace. Her best friend. And it hurt. Something in her heart had shattered, something she didn't know.

A knock on her door echoed through the too-clean, empty-feeling room. "Clary?" Isabelle's voice drifted through the air. "You want some coffee?" She sounded almost pleading, as if she already knew what had happened last night, knew about how Clary was feeling. Clary shook her head, even though she knew Isabelle couldn't see her. "No thanks, Iz," Clary's voice cracked from not being used most of last night nor all morning, it sounded hoarse-like she'd been crying. Which, okay, maybe a few tears had stained her cheeks last night, but that was all.

"Alright," Isabelle sounded disappointed, her voice soft, her footsteps growing even softer as she walked away from Clary's bedroom.

"Clary, can I come in?" It was Simon. She hadn't spoken to him-had an _actual_ conversation with him-in more than a few days, while he was holed up in his room. "No," Clary said quietly. But her door creaked open anyways, spilling in even more of that delicious coffee aroma. "Clary, what's wrong? Izzy's so worried about you-and that's something."

"Nothing," Clary shook her head, drawing her knees up close to her. Simon crinkled up his nose, and sat down on her bed, pushing his glasses up. "You and I both know that's a lie," he said.

"I just-I answered the door," Clary admitted. Simon was silent, and Clary worried for a moment that he was fuming angry with her. "I know-we both do," Simon brushed his hair out of his eyes. "We heard the whole thing, you know." Clary turned red, and buried her face in her mass of hair.

"But, I just don't get why you're so upset," Simon added, sinking into Clary's abyss of pillows. Clary shrugged, preparing herself to answer. "I saw him," Clary said. Simon looked up at her, his brows furrowed, he looked confused. "I saw the old him-before the _other_ person took over him." Clary said with disgust.

"What does that even mean?" Simon asked.

"It means," Clary leaned back against the wall. "It makes me sad to think that the person I knew-the person I loved-is gone, and he'll never fully come back, if he ever does." Simon was silent, probably not sure what to say to make her feel better-things like this weren't his forte. He wasn't an overly emotional guy, and he didn't really do the whole sappy thing, either. It was one reason why she put up with his crush on Isabelle-he didn't drool over her, well...not all the time.

Clary laid her head against her legs, and when she looked up again, Simon was gone, and she was alone with her mess of feelings and thoughts.

* * *

School was starting soon, like, tomorrow soon.

And that was the whole-and only-reason Clary was digging through her suitcases in search of the pile of textbooks that college required. It was quite the tiresome task, organizing all of her books for each different class she was taking. She would be majoring in Art for the next four years, and then she would-hopefully-graduate with a degree in Art.

Simon was majoring in some sort of science, while Isabelle would be majoring in something that had to do with photography. They wouldn't be seeing Simon much at school, considering both Clary and Isabelle's majors fell under the "Arts" category, and they therefore, were in a different wing of the school than Simon.

Just the thought of having to get up early made Clary groan. Of course she wanted her degree, but her desire for sleep might just one day over for her want for that art degree. Although, her mother would kill her the day that happened, so, art degree it is.

"Clary, are you _still_ looking for those textbooks?" Isabelle asked, leaning her model-like body against the doorframe, much like Clary had done last night. "What else would I be doing?" Clary tried to raise an eyebrow, but both went up instead, and Isabelle let out a little laugh. "Unpacking?" Isabelle suggested, Clary waved the thought away with a swat at the air with her hand. "You and I both know that's not going to happen."

"True," Isabelle nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Did you see it last night?" Clary asked, unsure.

"See what?"

"Him."

Silence, and then, "his face? Yeah, I saw it," Isabelle looked down, like she couldn't face Clary-like something in her expression might set Clary off. "He looked-" Isabelle cut off, shaking her head.

"Like himself?" Clary suggested, pulling out the last textbook she needed. Shoving the rest of the haphazardly scattered things into the suitcase, and zipping it shut, she stood up and shoved the large case into her closet. "Yeah," Isabelle said. "Like...before," Clary couldn't agree with her more. "I didn't like it. It was...unnerving, in a way," Isabelle finished.

"I know what you mean," Clary said, looking up at Isabelle. "I hate him for it." And it was the truth, she hated him for making her feel so...out of place, in the present time-as if she should be back when they were friends. It was strange to get such a feeling from a person you hardly knew anymore. But then again, Jace had always been very capable of lying, making people feel things that weren't real. Clary had always thought if he didn't become famous with that voice of his, his piano skills, he'd definitely make it big for his acting skills. But whenever it came to plays and things in middle school, he'd get nervous-something only Clary was a witness to.

"He shouldn't still have so much power or us," Clary said, and Isabelle nodded in agreement, before she was gone from the doorway, and her footsteps echoed and bounced off the walls as she walked to her own room.

Clary sighed, sinking down onto the floor. She began to organize the textbooks, putting books for each class in their own pile, and then proceeding to label them with sticky notes. She needed sleep, she knew that, and after just sitting there for a while, Clary retired to her bed. She didn't even bother changing, nor with brushing her hair. Her sleepless night was catching up with her already, and before she knew it, she was yawning, and her eyes wouldn't stay open. And then, they finally fell shut.

* * *

 **Hey guys! Another update because it's a long weekend for me-three days! Woohoo!**

 **Expect more updates-maybe another tonight. Who knows?**

 **I love all the lovely reviews I'm getting-keep them coming, please.**

 **There's this one review I got, and it goes-and I quote-"kicking Jace down a couple notches yay"**

 **I practically died of laughter.**

 **Until next time.**

 **:)**


	8. Small Yellow Papers

_The pain in her stomach was so intense. Like it would never go away. It was so much worse than any period cramps she'd ever experienced. She felt the bile rise in her throat, and suddenly she was retching, gagging out whatever was in her stomach. There were no words to describe the pain she was in. Her mother was rubbing her back, "Clary, what's wrong? Are you alright?"_

 _She was not okay, not by a long shot. She opened her mouth to reply, but as soon as she did, she was gagging again, her stomach trying to puke up whatever was in it-except nothing was coming up, she hadn't eaten in days, her stomach hurting and all. It seemed that it was all now coming to a climax. She suddenly panicked, what if she was dying? Was this how it felt to die? No, it couldn't be. It couldn't. When she was finished retching, her mother put her hand to Clary's forehead. "Honey, you're so warm. You're burning up."_

 _That couldn't be good._

 _Just when she thought it was over, the pain receding slightly, another bout a retching began, and the knots in her stomach tightened. Then her mom was gone, and she could hear her talking frantically, but the pain was making her delirious. She was puking up air and whatever was left in her stomach, and everything went blurry._

 _When Clary woke, she was in the hospital, and her mother was sitting in the chair by her bed. The air smelled strongly of cleaning supplies, and the lights were too bright. Her mother's red hair was pulled up in a messy bun, almost falling out as she laid there, only half awake, as she softly snored, but her eye fluttered every couple minutes._

 _"Mom?" Clary croaked, and her mother shot up, rushing over to her daughter's bedside. "Oh, my, honey," she said, cupping Clary's face with her hands. "What happened?" Clary asked, looking around the room. The door was open, and people walked past, dressed like a nurse or doctor-probably because it was a hospital, after all._

 _"Your appendix ruptured," her mother said soothingly, even though she probably knew those words were far from soothing. "Hurt like hell," Clary muttered. Her mom laughed slightly, then a worried expression passed over her face. "Are you feeling alright? Do you need anything?" There's the overbearing, worrisome mom Clary knew and loved. She shook her head, a wave a tiredness hitting her. "No, mom, I'm okay." Her mom nodded, and backed away from the bed, sitting down in the chair. "Get some rest, baby," she said. "Take your own advice," Clary advised, and let her eyes shut._

Clary rolled around in her bed, the covers holding her hostage, it seemed. She groaned at the loud, merciless noise coming from her phone. Her alarm. She could almost feel a phantom pain in her stomach, like the one she'd experienced when her appendix ruptured, and she winced at it. That was certainly not something she wanted to relive, but her subconscious, for whatever reason, wanted to relive the horrible experience.

Clary untangled herself from her sheets, stumbling in the darkness to get to her phone. It was beeping loudly, like a fire alarm, the screen lit up. She made her way over to her beacon of light, and happily shut it off. And then, all that could be heard was, " _shut your damn alarm off, Clarissa_!" Isabelle shouted from down the hall. Clary chuckled to herself. "Good morning to you, too, Izzy!" Clary shouted back. She could just imagine Isabelle flipping her off, and laughed internally at the image.

"Shut the hell up you two!" Simon shouted from across the hall. And then, there was a good five minutes where Isabelle cursed him and his existence and Clary's alarm. Clary rolled her eyes, rubbing at her eyes, she made her way into the kitchen, and turned on the light-it was still dark outside. She liked to have time to herself before having to go school, but it probably wouldn't work out that way by the end of the semester.

Clary walked to the counter, filling the coffee pot, she left the kitchen, waiting for the delicious aroma of caffeine to fill the air-that would get Isabelle and Simon out of bed. Sometimes she thought they were all like zombies...but instead of going on wild rampages for brains, they did it for coffee. The description was actually so accurate, it scared Clary a little.

She walked back to her room, and synced her phone with the Bluetooth speaker she'd found last night while digging through her suitcases. Clary cranked the volume on her phone, and pressed play on whatever song. It turned out to be, _Miss Jackson_ by _Panic! At The Disco_. "Turn it off!" Isabelle shouted, and Clary just laughed to herself, picking out her clothes for the day. She walked across the hall to the bathroom.

Sunlight had just started pouring through the windows, she noticed, as she walked to the bathroom. Clary clicked the lock into place, and put her clothes down on the counter, turning on the water to almost the highest setting. She liked her showers so hot they left her skin pink and blotchy.

The glass doors started to turn hazy with condensation, and Clary stepped inside, having peeled off her days old clothes. The water was hot like hell, but Clary loved the relaxing feeling it sent through her, as she closed her eyes.

* * *

Clary's hair was still wet, but she didn't really care, as long as there was coffee. Everything was better with coffee...well, most things. Isabelle was sat at the table, finishing off a cup of coffee. "Finally," she said, feigning exasperation. "I thought you would never come out," and she disappeared down the hallway, her inky hair swishing behind her.

Clary shrugged, pouring herself a mug of coffee. Heading back to her room, Clary noticed the song had switched to _Kids In The Dark_ by _All Time Low_. She nodded her head along to the beat, mouthing the words every now and then. Clary grabbed her sketch pad and pencils, trying to balance everything at once, as she sat down on the small windowsill. She put her coffee down, opening up her sketch pad to a fresh page. Clary was prepped with pencil in hand, as she looked out the window at what was supposed to be a garden view. Instead, there was a bright yellow sticky note in the middle of it. Clary frowned at it, pulling it off of where it was stuck to the inside of her window.

 _I'm Sorry_

 _P.S. You shouldn't leave your window open_

 _-J_

Clary just held the note, re-reading it over and over again. Had she really forgotten to close her window? But that really wasn't what concerned her. The fact that Jace had done this did. Every time they'd got in a fight, he would leave a note on her window, just like this. Clary hated to admit it, but she was starting to think maybe he wasn't as bad as she'd first thought.

Clary flipped over the note, thinking maybe there was more on the back. And there was.

A phone number.

His.

Clary wasn't sure what she wanted to do with it. She could always crumple up the note, toss it in the trash and pretend she'd never gotten it, go on as if nothing had changed from last night. Or, she could text him. But what would she even say? Clary went with the former. She crumpled up the note easily, into a small ball, and tossed it across the room, not caring if it made it into her garbage can or not.

Now, with a clear view of the gardens, Clary began to draw.

* * *

UCLA's Art wing was larger than Clary had anticipated, and she ended up getting lost more times than she'd ever admit. But now the day was over, and she could go back to the apartment knowing she hadn't done anything overly embarrassing-not even drop her heavy textbooks.

Her teachers were okay, except for one of them, the teacher had short brown hair, and beady black eyes. Like a mouse. It was only fitting that her name was Mrs. Mousier. How that woman was married, Clary'd never know.

But now, as Clary walked down the sidewalk, she couldn't care less about that woman and her personal life. The warm breeze picked up her hair, some of it blowing around in front of her face. She hastily pushed it back behind her ears. UCLA was a fair enough walk away from the apartment, and the walk was going to be long and boring without either Isabelle or Simon to keep her company. She wasn't quite sure where they were, but she knew not everyone got out at the same time like in high school. What time she got out depended on the classes she had that day, she knew that much, and today, it was only about two-thirty.

She passed some pedestrians on her way back to the apartment, but not a whole lot. LA was quite different from New York, to say the least. Clary wasn't sure what to do with her free time, maybe she could start painting her bedroom? Isabelle _had_ picked up paint for Clary's room when she got her own...So why not?

Clary thought about different things she could do with her room, and she couldn't quite remember what colour it was that she had picked out for her room. But if she didn't like it, she could always just use her own paints to do something on those boring white walls.

Clary had reached the apartment, and stood outside the front door, digging around in her pockets for her keys. Nothing. _Damn_ _it_. Clary walked around the side of the house, which wasn't gated off, for whatever reason- _probably made it really easy to put that note on my window_ , Clary thought. At this moment in time, she was very glad she hadn't shut her window, otherwise, she'd be so screwed right now.

Slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder, instead of holding it in her hands, Clary pushed open her window more. Hoisting herself up-with what little upper body strength she had-Clary swung one leg inside the window, quickly taking notice of the yellow sticky note stuck on the inside. Again. She had thrown the other one out, she knew that, and this one wasn't the same one. The only thing similar was the colour, and the messy, smeared ink on it. Swinging her other leg inside, Clary stumbled over the small ledge under the window, where she'd sat only that morning, drawing. Apparently, she'd already become so distracted by the note that she'd forgotten about that ledge. Good job, Clary, she gave herself a mental thumbs up-sarcastically-and sat up from where she'd fallen onto the floor. If anyone had seen that, she knew for sure her cheeks would rival a fire truck.

Brushing off her hands on her jeans, Clary peeled the paper off of the window.

 _You're still pissed,_

 _aren't you?_

 _-J_

Clary snorted. That was an understatement. Crumpling up the already-small piece of yellow paper, Clary tossed it to her trash can, and just her luck, it bounced off of the side of it. She could always leave Jace a note-which may or may not end up being a restraining order-but that would result in her having to converse with him. She didn't like that idea, even if it was only through small notes stuck to her window.

Throwing her bag down on her bed, Clary took out her textbooks, flipping to the page she had to read in the first one of many. She wanted to focus, to concentrate on what she was reading. She really did. But the two notes that lay crumpled up on her floor by the trash can were bothering her, and she didn't know _why_. Clary promptly stood up, grabbing the two small ball of paper, and dumping them out her open window, watching them roll away slightly, into the vibrantly green grass. She felt satisfied.

And when Clary tried doing the required reading again, she had no problems focusing.

* * *

Clary was roused by the closing of the front door, and the jingling of keys. She was slumped against the side of her daybed, textbooks splayed before her, open to pages in which were written topic she was momentarily unable to remember. Thankfully, she'd finished all the required reading before falling asleep. It hadn't taken her long, considering she didn't have much.

"Clary?" Isabelle's voice rang out through the relatively empty apartment. "I'm going to lay down. Wake me up when Si gets home so we can go get dinner."

"Yeah," Clary replied sleepily. She wiped at her mouth, for fear someone might catch her with drool all over her chin and mouth. Thankfully, though, her hand came away from her face completely dry. Clary ran a hand through her hair, as she heard Isabelle's bedroom door shut. Reaching down to the floor, where her phone laid untouched since she fell through the window, she tried to grasp for it, but was met with the cool hardwood. Reaching down again, this time laying on her stomach, she was almost halfway off the bed, reaching for her phone in a desperate manner. She groaned, "uh, damn it!" she cursed when instead of grabbing her phone, she pushed it further away. Slinking her way out of bed, she lay flat on her stomach, the hardwood cold against her exposed skin, her shirt having slid up, exposing her bra. Clary finally grasped her phone, turning it on, checking the time.

 _4:23_ it read. Shrugging, Clary stood up, pulling down her shirt. On her window, there was another yellow piece of paper. Clary narrowed her eyes at it, as if it had done her wrong, and walked over to her window. She peeled the note off, reading the messy scrawl of letters and smeared ink.

 _Throwing away my notes, huh?_

 _You're still pissed._

 _Either that or-?_

 _-J_

Clary laughed loudly, an dryly at the note, turning it over to check if any thing was on the other side. Surprise, surprise, there _was_ more.

 _You look cute when you sleep._

And that was it. Clary raised her eyebrows at the note, before crumpling it up and tossing it out the window, right next to where the two others lay in the grass. It gave her a sense of satisfaction of seeing the yellow pieces of paper laying there all crumpled up. Clary gave a small smile, before turning away and walking out of her room.

Her phone started buzzing, and when she looked at the screen, it was lit up with Simon's name. She swiped to answer. "Si?" She asked, scrunching up her eyebrows in slight confusion. Why would he be calling-shouldn't he be on his way back to the apartment? "Hey, Clary," he said. "I was on my way home, an I was wondering if you guys wanted me to pick up dinner?"

Clary nodded, a sense of relief washing through her. "Yeah," she breathed. "Sure. Just pick up some pizza," she could hear the shuffling of feet as Simon walked, and the slight breeze in the background. "Alright, then, I'll be back soon." And the line went dead. The dial tone sounded in Clary's ear, as she headed over to the coffee machine. There was a dried of layer of coffee on the bottom of the glass, and Clary made a small, but distinguishable, disgusted sound in the back of her throat. Turning on the faucet, Clary rinsed out the coffee pot, and then proceeded to fill the machine with water. She put in the coffee, and waited not-so-patiently for it to be done.

Clary decided she could think of better things to do other than sit there for five minutes doing absolutely nothing other than watching the machine make coffee, and went back down the hall to he bedroom. "Clary?" Isabelle called from down the hall. "Are you making coffee? I can smell it."

Clary stifled a laugh in her hand, "yeah, you want some?" The reply was instantaneous, as Isabelle walked out of her room, pony tail whipping around as Isabelle shut her door. "Is that even a question?" Isabelle raised an eyebrow at her, causing Clary to have a small laughing fit, right there in the middle of the hallway. When she recovered, Isabelle was gone and the smell of coffee intensified. "Wow, thanks for leaving me here to die, Iz," Clary shouted down the hallway. She could hear Isabelle snort, and then sense the eye roll that went along with it.

"Just shut up," Isabelle called back, as Clary made her way towards the kitchen. Grumbling about something, Isabelle handed Clary a steaming mug of black-brown liquid. "Thanks," Clary said, going to sit down on the couch. Isabelle was still grumbling about something-it sounded like, "so much reading," and then a really loud groan noise. "Uh-huh," Clary said absent mindedly, turning on the television. The screen lit up to show an episode of _The Simpsons_ was playing, and Clary shrugged. _Good enough_ , she thought. Isabelle was running her finger around the rim of the mug, when the front door swung open along with the sound of a string of profanities when Simon' foot connected with the doorframe as he tried to steps in. "Ha," Clary said, her eyes once again trained on the television.

"Shut up," Simon said, narrowing his eyes at the back of Clary's head. "Whatever you say, Si," Clary waved him away. "Alright, fine. I get it-you don't want pizza," at this, Clary shot up, turning to face him. "You should've started with that," she said firmly and took the pizza box from his hands, bringing it to the kitchen. She was followed by Isabelle and Simon, who could've been hypnotized by the pizza, the way they were looking at it.

"Calm down," Clary said, pulling a piece free of the circle. She bit into it, despite the steam rising from it. It brunt the roof of her mouth, but she still choked it down, her stomach grumbling loudly. "Clam down, there," she patted her stomach as Isabelle and Simon both grabbed a slice. Isabelle laughed around a mouth full of-no doubt-scorching pizza.

Five minutes later, there was only a few pieces of cheese left in the box. "Wow," Simon said. "I don't think I've ever seen two girls eat so much," he mused, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes. Isabelle narrowed her eyes at him, slapping him in the chest. "Shut up," she said. He held up his hands in mock surrender, as his chair scraped against the floor. He retreated to his room, claiming he had stuff for school to do. And then, Isabelle left her to do her oh-so-big pile of reading.

* * *

Clary had fallen asleep last night without any dreams, making for a fairly boring night. But she wasn't complaining, if it meant she didn't have nightmares about her appendix rupturing. Her alarm wasn't going off. What time was it? Her phone lit up the dark room, as well as the rising sun. _5:34 am_ her phone screen read. Clary groaned; why was she awake so early?

 _Whatever_ , she thought, _I'm going to take a shower_.

* * *

Her wet hair was dripping down her back, wetting the back of her shirt, which, honestly, was kind of annoying. But, air drying it was faster than towel drying it or blow drying it. Clary was standing in her room, in front of the mirror that hung on one of the four empty walls in her room. Her hair was curling already as it dried, and she was only hoping that it wouldn't frizz up to high heaven.

And then, as Clary ran a brush through the fiery curls, a flash of gold at her window caught her eye. _What the hell?_ Clary walked towards the open window-having forgotten to shut it again. Using all he strength, she pushed up the window the rest of the way, it made an awful squeaking noise as it went up, but Clary couldn't care less. Because when she looked outside, there was the flash of gold she had seen. _Running_ across the yard, into the trees behind the apartment.

She knew who it was, without a doubt. And then, she noticed the yellow sticky note on her window. She was torn between reading the note, then throwing it on the ground, or crumpling it up, and throwing it at Jace's retreating form. The latter was her favourite option. "Hey, idiot!" Clary shouted, crumpling the small yellow paper up in her hands. He turned, momentarily slowing his pace. His golden hair looked like it was glowing in the early morning sunlight. Using all the force she could muster, Clary threw the piece of paper at him, and surprisingly, it landed only a few feet away from him. He looked down at the paper, frowning, then his gaze met her green one head on. Clary thought about replying, but couldn't think of replying, so she simply shut her window and pulled down the blinds.

Isabelle was up an hour later, and the coffee was cold. "Clary, why is it cold?" She complained. Clary shrugged, hopping down from where she sat on the counter. "I was up an hour ago, that's why," she replied simply. Simon came stumbling out of his room, hair in his eyes, glasses sliding down his nose. "Cold coffee? Sounds gross," he said. Clary fought the urge to laugh at him almost tripping over his own feet.

"Probably is," Clary replied with a sweet smile. "But, that's your problem," she smirked and headed to her bedroom to pack up all her textbooks that were strewn across the room. It was early, but she wanted to keep busy, to keep...things off her mind. the only thing bringing her joy at this particular moment in time, was-still-the look on Jace's face that morning in the coffee shop. Absolutely priceless.

She was finished putting her textbooks away too soon for her liking, and she wasn't really in the mood to sketch. She could always go and socialize with her friends who were only about twenty-five feet away, but then again, going for a walk was always nice. She grabbed her bag, shoving some money into her jeans pocket-who knew what she might want to buy today?

Heading out the door, Clary-for once-remembered to grab her keys. Shoving them in her pocket, she was joined by Isabelle. "Where you going?" She asked, practically bouncing on the heels of her feet. "For a walk-maybe to the coffee shop," Clary replied, slipping on her worn sneakers. "Why? You want to come?"

Isabelle nodded eagerly, ad then an accusing look devoured her face. "Because somebody left not even half a pot of cold coffee for me," Isabelle pointed a finger at Clary, who couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. "Hey," she defended. "I needed it; I saw our Golden God today already," Clary said his name with sarcasm. Isabelle looked a little confused, "you saw him? What does that mean?"

"It means that he's been leaving notes on my window, and I caught him in the act this morning," Clary informed her. Isabelle nodded, then a smile crept it's way onto her lips. "Like whenever you two used to get into fights?" Clary nodded her head. "Exactly like that. He even apologized in the first one," Clary scoffed in disbelief, and so did Isabelle. "Seriously? Can I see it?" Clary shook her head again, "nope, sorry. Threw them out the window-literally."

Isabelle laughed, throwing her head back, as Clary twisted the door knob. The door was pulled open, and Clary noticed immediately that there was no sun shining down on anything anymore-the sky was cloudy and gray, like it was going to rain. "Hm," Isabelle said, "I didn't know it was going to rain today." Clary frowned at the sky, wasn't it always supposed to be sunny in LA? "Me neither," she muttered, and walked completely out of the doorway, Isabelle trailing a little behind. Everyone they passed reminded Clary of the sky; gloomy and miserable.

They arrived at the coffee shop, and Isabelle pushed the door open, Clary haven fallen behind a little bit. The smell of coffee attacked Clary's senses, and she could practically taste it. Isabelle was already in line, wile Clary waited just off to the side, not wanting anything. When Isabelle came back, she was smiling-at something the barista had said-but it faded when her eyes landed on the door that was just behind Clary. "What?" Clary asked, turning her head to look over her shoulder. "It's the car that followed me the other day," Isabelle said, her tone distinctly disgusted.

Clary furrowed her eyebrows, remembering that Jace had been in that car. "Iz, we should go," Clary said, trying not to let Isabelle know anything-she would only get angrier and might possibly punch someone, although, that would fairly entertaining. "Why?" Isabelle asked, a hand perched gracefully on her hip. How Clary wished she had curves like Isabelle. But, no. Instead, she was stuck with a rather boy-ish form and practically no boobs. "Just...because," Clary said, wrapping her small fingers around Isabelle's wrist. "Because why, Clary?" Isabelle asked, her tone firm, telling Clary she wasn't leaving until she got an answer. "How do you think Jace found out where we lived? Magic?" Clary asked, eyebrows raised, hoping Isabelle would get the hint. Isabelle's obsidian eye widened, and her mouth was open slightly. Even with that ridiculous expression on, she looked like a model. Clary cursed good genes. Both of her brothers were graced with their parents' amazing genes, too. How one family could be so attractive was beyond Clary-and her youngest brother was only thirteen.

Understanding dawned on Isabelle, her expression changing immediately, she nodded her head up and down, inky hair bouncing along with her head. "Yeah, you're right, we should get going," she allowed Clary to pull her out of the coffee shop. And they walked down the street, neither would admit it, but the kept stealing glances over their shoulders. By the time they had reached the corner of the street, a stop sign, someone got out of the car. He had black, inky hair like Isabelle's, and the same piercing blue eyes of Isabelle's mother, father and brothers. Because he was Isabelle's brother; Alec.

It was Alec Lightwood, the one and only.

* * *

 **Hey guys! Another update cause I have so much inspiration for this story it's crazy.**

 **What do you all think of this story so far?**

 **Lots of stuff went down in this chapter, and, well, yeah. Not sure what to say about it, so there.**

 **I think it would be adorable if a guy left notes on my window, but also, kind of creepy, don't you think?**

 **Can we get to 100 reviews? Pretty please?**

 **:)**


	9. Proving A Point

Clary stopped short, causing Isabelle to freeze, too, it was quite obvious that she hadn't noticed her brother half was down the street, otherwise she'd be running into his arms declaring how much she'd missed him-well, that, or slapping him upside the head and demanding to know why he hadn't visited her or their little brother, Max. "Clary, wha-?" She cut off, when her gaze was redirected to over her shoulder, and her jaw dropped. Quite literally. Her mouth fell open, exposing a mouth full of perfectly straight, un-chipped teeth, that shone so bright a fluorescent light would be jealous. "Alec?" She breathed, standing there, studying him for a minute, before she turned on her heel, taking long, easy-for her-strides towards her brother. Clary, reluctant to do so, followed her, trying to keep up with said long strides.

They reached Alec all too quickly, and he looked taken aback, to say the least. His electric blue eyes wide, watching his sisters angry expression. It was almost like she was glaring at him, but not really. It was creeping Clary out a little bit. "Alexander Gideon Lightwood," Isabelle enunciated each word-each of his names-carefully, slowly, as if tasting them. And then-much to Clary's approval-she slapped him point blank across his face. His eyes were still so wide, so shocked that it looked almost as if he didn't notice it. But, it was hard to not notice when a bright red welt appeared across his cheek, showing just how much force Isabelle had used. Just by the look of it, Clary wanted to wince _for_ Alec; that must've hurt. But Clary knew he deserved it.

"Isabelle!" He gasped, rubbing at his cheek tentatively. She raised her eyebrows, arms crossed over her chest. "You deserved it," Clary chimed in. Alec looked down at her, as if he wasn't sure who he was seeing. "How on earth could you not visit for a whole year and a half? I got two phone calls Alexander," Isabelle said, scarily calm, a finger pointed at him. "Max got none, Mom got none. What do you have to say for yourself? Hm? She prompted.

And then, Jace stepped out of the car. "Alec? Who are you talking to?" He asked, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone. "Well, well, well," Clary said, her arms now, too, folded across her chest, a mocking expression on her face. "What have we here?"

Both boys were silent, Alec staring at Isabelle, Jace at Clary. Alec's gaze occasionally flickered over to Clary, his eyes showing disbelief. "I'm...sorry?" Alec said, but his voice came out almost like a squeak. "You're sorry? That is truly pathetic, Alec," Isabelle shook her head. "You can find time to hang out with..." Isabelle looked Jace up and down with disgust. "That piece of idiocy, but you can't find time to call your own family?" Isabelle laughed bitterly.

"Isabelle, I'm sorry, it's just-I've been-I-um," Alec stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Save it, Alec," Isabelle whirled around, walking away furiously. The boys wouldn't notice it, but the tone Isabelle used told Clary she was close to breaking point, close to crying-something she only did when she couldn't take it anymore, or something terrible had happened. This situation, however, fell under both categories. "Rot in hell, both of you," Clary said venomously, turning on her own heel and going to catch up with Isabelle.

* * *

Clary had caught up with Isabelle, leaving behind to confused-or whatever they were-boys. Her face was stained with tears, yet she only had a little bit of mascara running down her face. "Iz, do you want to talk about it?" Clary asked gently, grabbing a hold of Isabelle so that she didn't walk right through oncoming traffic. She shook her head, "no, Clare, maybe later," Clary nodded, not wanting to push Isabelle. It wouldn't be good for either of them, because Isabelle would either burst out in tears, right there, in the middle of the street, or snap at her and storm off somewhere. And that might've been okay to do in New York-where Clary knew all the places Isabelle liked to go when she was angry, but here in LA, that idea sounded a little more on the scary side rather than the tedious side.

"Do you want to stay home and watch movies, or something?" Clary asked lamely, unable to think of a better idea. All the tears that had decorated Isabelle's face seemed to have vanished, her eyes showing no hint that she was about to burst out in tears. It was strange. Isabelle laughed a little. "No," she replied. "I don't think missing a day on the first week would leave a very good impression." Clary scoffed, "who cares?" She asked. "Do you _know_ how many people skip the first day?" Clary asked, eyebrows raised.

Isabelle was silent, but the way she pursed her lips, and her eyes kept looking over at Clary, she could tell Isabelle was trying not to laugh, probably thinking it would seem weird if she just burst out laughing like a lunatic. "Well, we're going," Isabelle said firmly, as Clary shifted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. Isabelle was carrying around a black leather purse, and Clary wondered how on earth it could hold all of those big, heavy textbooks-not to mention all the other crap Isabelle usually keeps in her bags; gum, nail file, makeup, a small comb. Long story short, Isabelle keeps a lot of things in her purse.

"Whatever you say, ma'am," Clary saluted, hoping to keep things on a roll, get Isabelle in a better mood-one she wasn't pretending to be in. Isabelle took a long drink out of her Styrofoam cup, and marched forward, Clary at her side.

* * *

Classes were boring, Clary decided. She'd hoped that in college lectures got at least a little more interesting than they were in high school, but, sadly, no. In fact, they might've actually gotten more boring, considering there were no kids making jokes about anything. It was quite literally, one of the dullest experiences in her life. That is, until someone with dark hair and dark eyes that looked strangely familiar sat down in the seat next to her, it being the only open-unless you wanted to sit in the front, where Mrs. Mousier's saliva was flying around, her words much louder than they needed to be. Clary looked at him. _Really_ looked at him.

She admired the angular face he had; the sharp cheekbones and jawline, how his nose wasn't overly big or pointy, but just that perfect size where it fit them perfectly. His dark hair only added to the affect he had on Clary, because it made him look like dark prince she'd once tried to draw, with his pale complexion and mysterious vibe humming from his body. Only, she had kind of fallen in love with said dark prince, but had completely forgotten about him after Jace moved away.

And now, she sat next to a living, breathing dark prince. Her fingers itched for her pencils and a pad of paper. Thankfully, Mrs. Mousier's lecture was over, and she was now sitting down behind that big, old-looing, beat up desk, scowling at something on it. The boy turned to her, and Clary nearly fell out of her chair. "Did I miss much?" He said it in a low tone, probably fearing that Mrs. Mousier would hear him and reprimand him. How embarrassing that would be. Clary stammered for something to say. "Um, not really-actually, I'm not sure, I wasn't really listening," Clary replied sheepishly. The boy let out a low, silky chuckle, "I'm glad I'm not the only one who doesn't pay attention," he looked back at Clary. And somehow, she found herself looking at the beautiful facial structure he had...and she was comparing him to Jace; how his jawline and cheekbones were too sharp to be like Jace's, how Jace's were softer, but still strong. How his arms were muscled and thin, so much so that his veins popped out slightly. Unlike Jace, who's arms were muscled and thin, too, but no veins popped out-he was infinitely perfect, somehow. And when the boy gave a small smile, she couldn't help but notice he didn't have a chip in his incisor like Jace did. What was wrong with her today?

In a self-conscious manner, Clary began tugging on the bottom hem of her shirt, not really having an explanation for why. "Well," said the boy, looking down at his phone screen. "I was hoping to get to all of my classes today, but duty calls," he sounded almost disappointed. "I'm Sebastian, by the way," he held out his hand for Clary to shake. "Clary," she smiled, and he gave her this odd look, as if he was trying to place her name. "What? Do I have something on my face?" Clary asked worriedly. He simply shook his head, standing up, and slinging his bag over his shoulder as Clary copied his motions. "It's just-I-my friend-it's nothing, never mind," he shook his head, and turned to walk away. He was half way out the door, when he turned and said, "I'll see you around, Clary?" All she could do was nod numbly, and get out a soft, "yeah," as he walked out of the room. She could feel eyes on her, and quickly scurried out of the room, hoping it had been someone else, and _not_ Mrs. Mousier.

When she got to the hallway, she found herself hoping that Sebastian would still be there. But, to her disappointment, he was gone. Almost as if he'd never even been there in the first place.

* * *

Clary groaned and sighed at the same time, the two coming together to form a very strange noise that she'd never have wanted anyone to hear. Throwing herself down onto her bed, and her bag onto the floor, she couldn't even muster enough energy to care if there was another note stuck to her window. Not that she would have seen it if she looked up, because her blinds were closed and she couldn't be bothered to open them. For having had a full nights sleep, she was exhausted. It probably had something to do with how boring Mrs. Mousier was; that woman could put an entire room of squirming, screaming toddlers to sleep in minutes.

Somehow finding the energy to pull her lazy self off of her oh-so-comfy bed, Clary walked over to the window, and pulled open the blinds. Surprise, surprise, there was a small, vibrantly yellow piece of paper stuck to the outside glass. She opened her window, and reluctantly pulled the note off of the glass. She didn't want to read it, she didn't want to know what Jace had to say. But she found herself reading the smudged ink nonetheless.

 _Clary, please talk to me._

 _I don't want things to stay like this between us_

 _Meet me at the park behind your apartment_

 _at 7:30_

 _-J_

And the worst part was that Clary was actually considering meeting him. The whole avoiding him was growing old, and fast. She didn't particularly want to talk to Jace, but she didn't not want to talk to him-if that even made sense. And after how today she started comparing Sebastian to Jace, she obviously needed to sort some things out. So it was decided.

She would go to meet Jace at seven-thirty.

* * *

A few hours later, which felt like an eternity, Clary was tapping her foot anxiously against the dirt under her feet. The air had become uncharacteristically cold, but it _was_ raining. Clary regretted not wearing anything other than the leather jacket she'd worn. It wasn't something she would've picked out, but Isabelle gave it to her, claiming it was too small for her, but in the back of her mind, Clary knew Isabelle would never make the mistake of buying something that was a size, or two small for her.

The wind blew the swings back and forth a little, making them squeak and creak-something she hadn't noticed while she'd been on them with Isabelle only a night or two ago. Looking down at her legs, clad in dark blue skinny jeans, it was only then Clary noticed that she was wearing a lot of dark colors; a black, V-neck, band tee, the black leather jacket, and the dark pants. The only real colour that decorated her body was her green sneakers, and her fiery-as always-red hair.

Clary knew good and well that she was early. A whole hour early, but she didn't really care, as she wandered over to the swings, her fingers lightly running over the cold metal chains. Sitting down on one of the swings, Clary drew patterns in the sand with the tip of her shoe. Her hair had started falling into her face, but she didn't really bother with pushing it away-it would only fall back again. Clary had been so consumed in her little drawing in the wet sand, she hadn't noticed when someone came to stand in front of her.

She only noticed when he left out a breath. "You came," his voice was low, surprised, even. Clary looked up from her doodling's in the sand for a moment, admiring the golden hair that couldn't possibly be his natural colour, and then her gaze fell back onto the sand. "I did," Clary said. She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince more: herself or Jace.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Clary asked quietly, her mind not all really there, one half focused on Jace, the other half somewhere in space. There was the sound of shuffling, and then Jace was sitting in the swing beside her, his muscled body a little too large for the small structure, his feet reaching far ahead of him. It was almost comical. Almost. Clary looked over at him, assessing him, it felt like she was doing. He wore only a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt that hugged his body just right, so that you could tell there was muscle underneath. "I don't know," Jace sighed, and she could feel his golden gaze on her once more. "I really just can't stand the fact that you hate me, I guess."

Clary felt like she should respond, with a nod at least, but words came pouring out, instead. "Guess you should have thought of that before you opened your mouth and started talking like some big shot, huh?" Her gaze flickered over to him, their eyes meeting for a moment, before they both looked away. "Maybe," Jace said finally, silence descending upon them.

"Maybe? What's that supposed to mean?" Clary asked, her voice laced with genuine curiosity, not only did she actually want to know what he meant by that, but she wanted to get rid of the not quite awkward silence that floated between them like an invisible barrier. It was like being so close to some one she used to know, but not being able to fully see that person, like there was something blocking you, preventing you from getting to that person. It really sucked.

"I am kind of a big shot," Jace mused, and she supposed that was her answer. She frowned at the sand. "How do you suppose we fix things between us if you keep acting this way?" She tried raising an eyebrow, but-so very predictably-failed. " _What_ way?" Jace asked, his voice sounding a little threatening. He sounded like a spoilt little brat, in Clary's opinion. "Like a self-centered, big-headed, pompous, spoilt little Rockstar."

Jace didn't say anything for a minute, but the way he was glowering at the sand told Clary all she needed to know. He was exactly that. "And I don't think there's even a piece of the person I knew left." She said, sad to have to finally admit it out loud-and to Jace, no less. His eyes shot up instantly, glaring at her. "You don't know anything, Clary," he said, pointing a finger at her. His voice was low, and a firm warning tone implanted in his tone, too. Clary would bet anyone a hundred dollars that he was just barely holding onto his raging temper-some things never changed. "I never said I did," Clary said, shrugging, she stood up from the swing. "I may have implied it, but I was simply stating my opinion, pretty boy." He didn't seem to like the fact that she'd just called him "pretty boy," and was standing, too. He towered over her, and Clary figured he was probably over six feet tall, by now, while she was a meek five-three, maybe five-four, if she was lucky.

He let out a noise that reminded Clary of a frustrated growl, or groan, she wasn't quite sure. Running a frustrated hand through his golden curls, he looked down at her, and then looked away. She now had her arms crossed over her chest, and let out a yawn. Why was she so tired? Thankfully, she didn't have any reading to do tonight. She didn't really have to do anything tonight, other than get out of this encounter with Jace alive and well, and then talk with Isabelle about Alec-no way was she getting out of that one. "You don't get it!" Jace exclaimed, and she could all but see the anger making his blood boil under his perfectly tanned flesh. "You're right," Clary said, "I don't get it. So tell me." She took a step towards him, arms still crossed over her chest, cupping her elbows in her hands. "Tell me why I didn't get a goodbye. Tell me why I didn't know you were leaving. Tell me why I never heard from you for five years, and you suddenly want to be all buddy-buddy again. Tell me, Jace, make me understand why the hell I should even be giving you the time of day when you couldn't be bothered for five years."

Jace looked speechless at her boldness. She didn't really blame him, she hadn't been that way five years ago. Back then, she was too shy to even raise her hand in class, and now? She was telling off one of the worlds most sought after guys. He opened his mouth, as if to speak-to explain himself. But the then shut it again, his irritatingly perfect mouth a straight line. "I just-" Clary started, rubbing her "I shouldn't," she said vaguely, and then turned on her heels, kicking up some wet sand in the process. She began walking away from Jace, angry with herself for thinking showing up was even remotely a good idea. And then she felt his hand on her forearm, his grip firm but not so hard where it would hurt her, just hard enough that she couldn't break away from it. His hand was warm, and wrapped all the way around her small arm, it was ridiculous.

"Let go of me, Jace," Clary said in a low, warning tone, similar to the one he'd used with her. When he didn't say anything, or budge in the slightest, Clary tried to pull her arm free of his grasp, but no dice. "Don't you have better things to do than chase after some redhead?" She asked bitterly, not daring to look at his face, fearing his expression for some reason. "Jonathan Christopher," Clary began her threat. "If you don't let go of me right now, I swear to God I will punch you in the face." Jace laughed, and she turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised, a cold expression on her face. "What?" She asked. "You don't even know how to throw a punch," he laughed, his grip on her forearm tightening, and she wasn't sure if it was accidental or not. But stupid Jace had her left arm in an iron grip, not her right one. Bad thing for him: that was the arm she hit with.

Clary clenched her right hand into a fist, and swung her arm back. The next thing she knew, her fist was connecting with his jaw. The sound it made gave Clary and odd sense of satisfaction, as Jace let go of her arm, his hand going up to his jaw, he looked at her, his expression disbelieving. Clary ran her hands down her band tee, as if wiping her hands off. She met his gaze, and smirked. "I thought we went over this? Things change, Jace," and she turned away from him, not once feeling the urge to turn back and look at him. She was back at the apartment, and she felt so...amazing, for some reason. It couldn't be just that she'd punched Jace, it had to be the fact that she'd proved a point, as well. One she thought she had proved when she gave him the finger, and then when she'd tossed his notes out the window. But, no, apparently it was harder to get a point across than she thought. How thick was that skull of his?

Hopefully Jace got the point now, though, and would leave her alone. It would be best for both of them if he did. Clary yawned again, changing into a pair of sweats but keeping on the black band tee. She could just talk to Isabelle tomorrow...Clary thought as she laid her head against a rather soft pillow, blankets covering her, darkness surrounding her.

And then she couldn't keep her eyes open, and soon enough, she, like many others, fell victim to the darkness.

* * *

 _Only one more day until Friday_ , Clary thought giddily. For some reason weekends never ceased to excite her, mostly because she would get to sleep in and not have to Mrs. Mousier, but still. She was still on her high from proving her point to Jace with a good punch to the jaw and flipping him off. Even better? She hadn't found a single yellow sticky note on her window in the past two days. Maybe she should punch her problems in the jaw more often...

"Clary, come on!" Simon called from the kitchen. She picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and only then was the full weight of her textbooks registered in her brain, as she felt the urge to topple over. But she kept her footing, walking out of her bedroom to the kitchen, where Isabelle was just tying off her braid. She couldn't recall ever seeing Isabelle with a braid in her hair, but the look suited her-everything suited her, somehow. She felt a little guilty about not telling Simon about all the things going on with Jace, but he already hated Jace. No need to add fuel to the fire, right? But that was pretty much what she was doing with Isabelle by telling her everything, but she couldn't keep everything to herself. Isabelle hadn't believed Clary at first, after she'd told Isabelle about punching Jace, but after she did, oh, boy, Isabelle was ecstatic. Clary thought she might get up and jump around like a little kid on Christmas morning, but no, she'd stayed perfectly calm-for the most part-grinning like an idiot.

And then they'd talked about Alec, and how angry Isabelle was at him. He'd up and left their family after he turned eighteen and graduated, going to LA, without saying why. Isabelle had heard from him only twice after that, in a one-year span. He'd only been gone about a year and a half, but Isabelle and Alec had been pretty close, if Clary recalled correctly. So it had hit her pretty hard when he just left her. Now all that grief and sadness was turned to rage. It seemed neither Alec or Jace could catch a break.

Clary knew she was being a bit too harsh on Jace, but seriously? He was gone for five years, without even _attempting_ to contact Clary, and then she shows up in LA and he wants to have a warm and fuzzy reunion? _Uh, no_.

"Clare, let's get going," Simon waved a hand in front off her face, bringing her out of her thoughts. "Oh," she said, a little surprised. "Yeah, let's go," she said, as Isabelle pulled open the front door. The weather was still rainy, and gloomy, heavy drops coming down from the sky like a giant baby's tears. Clary laughed internally at her own line of thought. Simon came out the door behind her, locking it and pulling his keys out, a clinking, jingling noise in the utter silence that seemed to fall over them. They all walked in silence to UCLA, all three each deep within their own minds, thinking. Clary couldn't say what was on Isabelle or Simon's minds, but she knew what was on hers; Jace.

* * *

Clary only had three classes that day, one, unfortunately being Mrs. Mousier's, because she so needed to listen to an old, mousy-looking woman ramble on about the history of art all while she scowled at her students. The only good thing about that class seemed to be seeing Sebastian, and she had the past two days while Jace's absence in her life left an odd, gaping hole. He had made her laugh, managed to keep her entertained during Mrs. Mousier's class. She'd even caught him staring at her a few times, but blushed and looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice. But the way he would smirk and look ahead made Clary sure he had seen.

Today was no different.

Sebastian was making fun of the way Mrs. Mousier scowled, when class ended, and she took her usual post behind her bulky wooden desk, scowling at something. "So," Sebastian said, turning to face her fully. "I was wondering if you'd want to come out with me later?" The light caught his sharp cheekbones, making him look even more angular than her already was, causing Clary to itch for her pencils and a pad of paper again. Sebastian had that effect on her. "I-I-uh, yeah, sure," Clary stuttered. He smiled at her, "great." he ripped a piece of paper out of her notebook, stealing one of her pens that laid on top of it, he scribbled down something-an address. "Meet me there at...four-thirty," Clary nodded, shoving her notebook into her bag, along with her pen an textbook. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she led their way out of the classroom. Sebastian gave her a blindingly white smile before disappearing down the hallway, off to his next class, probably.

Fortunately for Clary, Mrs. Mousier was her last class for the day, and she could head home to the apartment.

* * *

Clary had synced her phone with her Bluetooth speaker, and _Smile_ by _Avril Lavigne_ was blasting throughout the apartment, as she put on a fresh coat of mascara and some eyeliner. She was too lazy to do anything with her hair, so she just left it to hang down her back in its natural curls.

Clary glanced at the clock, noting that it was nearly four-thirty, and she should probably get going soon, she slipped on her leather jacket over the blue muscle tank she wore. Scribbling a quick note for Simon and Isabelle, telling her where she was going, she left the apartment, keys in hand, and wondering which way to go from the apartment to get to the address Sebastian had given her.

* * *

 **Another update since I failed to provide two yesterday. So excited for the next chapter.**

 **This story almost has 100 followers! I can't believe it.**

 **I don't think you guys know how much it makes my day to read your reviews, like seriously.**

 **Anyways, enough being sappy, what do you all think is going to happen next chapter?**

 **:D**


	10. A Date?

Clary wasn't so sure about meeting Sebastian anymore.

There she stood, outside in the gloomy LA weather, leather jacket wrapped tightly around herself, and staring up at the tall, glass building in front of her. The large, light up sign read, _Alicante Studios_.

And if clary didn't know any better she's say that this was not in fact a date, but something much more...complicated. Complicated being the key word, because she didn't really know what she was walking into. She could always take a taxi back to the apartment, but, oh, wait, there was Sebastian walking towards her, a big, brilliant smile lighting up his face. She forced one back to him, feeling her face beginning to hurt. "Clary, I'm so glad you made it!" He beamed, and his smile was infectious, as he walked up to the glass double doors. "So, um, what is this place?" Clary asked, trying to sound innocent, for whatever reason. He looked over at her, as he held the door open. "This is where I disappear to," he waggled his eyebrows mysteriously. No way this was where he went whenever he just, disappeared from school. Clary stepped inside, to be greeted with a warm gush of air over her cold skin.

"You work here?" Clary asked, looking around the warmly lit lobby. There was a reception desk, with a petite blonde woman sitting behind it, she gave Sebastian a warm smile as he passed. He nodded at Clary, "yeah, you could say that."

"You're being very mysterious here, Sebastian," Clary said, as she walked behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides and take everything that was Alicante Studios in. "For all I know you could be planning on murdering me," Clary raised her eyebrows at the back of his head, as he let out a low chuckle. "I'll tell you now, that is not the case," he held open a black door, and she stepped inside. There was a man, with black hair and darkly tanned skin sitting behind a control board, and another man standing beside him, with graying hair that he was slowly, but surely, losing. He wore a scowl, his eyebrows furrowed at the glass in front of him. The glass was tinted to the blackest it could probably ever be, and she could just see the outline of...people on the other side of the glass?

Clary turned to Sebastian, confused. He simply smiled, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, and motioned to the two men behind the control panel. "That's Raven," he pointed to the one with the darker skin. "And that," he motioned with his hand to the pasty-skinned, scowling man," is Hodge, our manager."

"'Our'?" Clary asked, completely lost. Was he in a band? "Yeah," Sebastian smiled. "I'm the lead guitarist," Clary nodded, trying to understand everything with all the vague answers she was getting. So, he was the lead guitarist-he must be in a band-there's more than him, because he said "our" manager. Just, _who's_ band? That's what she really wanted to know. "Just sit right here," Sebastian patted a couch a little ways away from control panel and the grouchy-looking man. "Alright," Clary said, unsure of what else she _could_ do. "This shouldn't take long, and then we can go get something to eat, if you want?"

"Yeah, sure," Clary said, trying to sound at least a little cheerful.

And then a through a door that Clary assumed lead to the other side of the black-tinted glass, came a man. Not just any man, oh, no. Because this man had golden hair that was too golden to be real, and golden eyes that just had to be contacts. It was Jace. He didn't seem to notice her, as he looked straight ahead at Sebastian. "Seb, hurry up, we all want to get out of here."

"I won't be long, Clary," he said, and walked over to the door in which Jace was sanding close to. His eyes went wide, "Clary?" he asked, and his gaze shifted a little to his left, to where Clary stood. "Clary?" He asked again in disbelief. Sebastian looked back and forth between Jace and Clary, his expression hopelessly confused. "You know her?" He asked Jace.

"You could say that," Jace replied, trying to keep his cool.

"What does that even mean?" Sebastian asked, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration, it seemed. Clary couldn't help but notice how adorable he looked doing it. One of his signature smirks found its way onto Jace's face, as he leaned more into the door frame, arms crossed over his muscled chest. "This is the girl I was telling you about," he said simply, and Clary raised her eyebrows in surprise; he talked about her?

"Oh, was it?" Sebastian asked, looking slightly amused. "You sounded pretty pissed every time you talked about her," Sebastian noted, and Clary fought the urge to give Jace a cold glare; what had she done wrong?

Jace took a step forward, the light in the small room catching his sharp jawline. And that was when Clary noticed the dark blue and purple bruise forming on the right side of his face, right near his jaw, and a little on his jaw. "Ouch, man," Sebastian grimaced at the bruise forming there. "What the hell did you do?" Jace looked very amused, but no matter how many smirks he flashed in her direction, they couldn't melt the thrill of satisfaction she got just by looking at the bruise, or imaging his face when she'd gave him the finger in the coffee shop. "Let's just say I pissed someone off," Jace shrugged, flashing a look at Clary.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You did a whole lot more than piss me off, Herondale," Clary informed him. Jace glared at her icily, and for some reason, it made her want to shrink away from him, but she held her ground. No way was she going to be scared by this stupid façade he wore. No one could completely disappear, the old Jace was in there somewhere, she knew that-the notes on her window had proved that. Sebastian looked at her, head cocked to the side. "You two know each other?" Clary laughed, throwing her head back slightly, not really wanting to answer the question, as Jace continued to glare icily at her. "We were...friends," Jace ground out. Sebastian looked a little panicked, "did you two date, or something?"

Clary shook her head frantically. "Oh, God, no! We were close, but not so much anymore." Translation: He's an ass now. Jace looked something like amused, or like he wanted to put his hand through the glass, Clary wasn't entirely sure which. "Oh, you wound me," Jace put a hand to his heart in mock hurt. Sebastian looked like he seriously doubted their story, his gaze going back and forth between the two. "It's my pleasure," Clary shot back. She couldn't help thinking how uncomfortable Sebastian must feel-he probably doesn't believe that there was never anything between them. Clary gave him an apologetic look, "I'm sorry, Sebastian. How about we go out for lunch tomorrow, instead?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Sebastian agreed, "I'll see you tomorrow then," he gave her a dazzling smile, stepping closer to Jace. She returned the smile, making sure Jace didn't believe by a long shot that it was for him. Clary nodded, and turned to leave the building.

* * *

Clary hastily shut the front door behind herself, sliding down it. That had to be one of the most embarrassing experiences of her life. Her cheeks had burned all the way home, and only now, in the privacy of her apartment, would the red colour fade. It was absolutely ridiculous to be embarrassed, she knew, but just the thought that her and Jace had been somehow...together, was unsettling. In so many ways, Clary couldn't keep track. She shivered at the thought for what seemed like the millionth time. She didn't understand why people always jumped right to the idea that they were ex's.

Maybe it was the fact that they had history, and they hated each other-well, Clary hated him, but details, details. All minor details. It didn't look like Isabelle and Simon had been home, and Clary didn't know what to do with herself. She could go out, do something. But what? And then it hit her, like a brick to the head. She could go to Luke's bookstore, see if he needed any help.

Clary nodded, and pushed herself up off the floor. She smoothed out her wrinkled shirt, twisting the cold door knob, and pulling. The door swung open, nearly hitting her in the hip. She frowned at the metal door, stepping outside into the rainy weather. She couldn't believe that it was still rainy, wasn't this supposed to be the city of sunshine, or something? Whatever it was, the past few days had been the exact opposite.

* * *

A bell chimed, as Clary pushed open the door to Luke's book store: Garroway Books. Simple name, Clary thought. Luke looked up from his book, a smile lighting up his face at the sight of Clary. She tried for a smile back, but it came out as a grimace. "Clary, what are you doing here?"

"Oh," she said. "I-uh-I just wanted something to do, you know?" She hoped he wouldn't push, if he noticed she was upset, or angry...or whatever she was. At this point, so many unknown emotions were swirling inside of her, she didn't know what to think. Luke nodded, standing up. "Well, if you wanted to help out, you could go shelve those books for me?" Clary nodded, a smile creeping onto her lips.

Turning away from Luke, she headed to near the back of the store, where there were three cardboard boxes stacked, one opened on the floor, books splayed about it. She decided that starting with the open one would be best, so she didn't step all over the books.

She had started shelving books awhile ago, she knew that much, but it had all blurred into one long hour, it seemed. "Clary, it's almost closing time!" Luke called out, into the empty store. "Alright," she replied, bending over to grab the last book out of the final box. She perched it on the shelf, and sighed contently. Doing all that work had gotten Jace, and everything else off of her mind. It was nice to have a blank mind, she realized.

Clary wiped her hands off on her jeans, as she stopped in front of the register, waiting for Luke to come out of the backroom, where he'd been organizing for the last little while. "Thank you for the help, Clary, I really appreciate it," Luke said sincerely, as he stood behind the counter, pressing some buttons on the register. Clary shook her head, "no, Luke, thank _you_ -I needed a distraction." Luke chuckled softly. "Well, you know you're welcome anytime." She nodded, as Luke dug around in his pocket for something-keys, Clary assumed.

"After you," Luke said softly, motioning to the front door. Clary, feeling a little stupid for not realizing he was going to lock up, took a step forward, and then another, and another, until she was pulling open the door, holding it for Luke, who passed swiftly through. He grabbed the door from her, shutting it, and pushing the keys into the lock twisting, and yanking when they got stuck.

"Goodnight, Clary," Luke smiled, as he walked off to his beaten up, blue truck that was parked by the curb. "Night, Luke," Clary waved, as she walked down the sidewalk. She could hear the growl of his truck when he turned it off, see the light from his headlights, leading her way, it seemed. Soon enough, though, the lights were gone, and she felt a little lonely walking by herself.

* * *

Clary had actually remembered her keys, so she had no trouble getting into the apartment. "Clarissa!" Was her greeting. She spun on her heel, shocked at the sudden outburst. "What?" She demanded, looking up at whoever it was with wide eyes. Isabelle. "Where have you been? It's nearly eleven o'clock at night!" Isabelle's voice was rising with every passing syllable.

Clary held up her hands in defense, "I was helping Luke at the store," she said simply. Isabelle looked very unimpressed. "I'm so sorry that I wasn't out late on a date, Izzy, please, do forgive me," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Shut up," Isabelle smacked her lightly on the arm. But then, there was a piece of paper about two millimetres away from her face, she struggled to focus on the messy scrawl written across the small piece of yellow paper. "What is this?" Isabelle demanded, a perfectly _plucked, black eyebrow raised. Clary ripped the paper from Isabelle's hand, looking down at it._

 _I'm sorry, Clary._

 _Meet me at the park._

 _-J_

"It's a note, Isabelle," she said blankly. "From someone who I'd really love to strangle right about now." Clary added, just for good measure. If she thought Isabelle was going to laugh, she was wrong because Isabelle's gaze only drifted between her, and the note. "You're not going, are you?" Isabelle asked, obsidian eyes wide with question. Clary looked down at the note, making a decision she'd surely regret later. "I'm going," she said quietly. "I want to hear what he has to say for himself, after he practically ruined my date with Sebastian."

"That cute guy you were telling me about? In your Art History class?" Isabelle asked, head cocked to the side. Clary nodded, swallowing visibly. "Yeah, him." Isabelle was silent, but Clary knew what Isabelle was thinking; don't go.

She didn't want to, she didn't even know why she was.

* * *

The park was relatively empty, upon first glance. The sand-along with everything else-was now dry, but the swings still moaned and groaned. Someone must be using them, maybe some kids, but Clary highly doubted it. Not once had she seen kids go back here to play.

Hesitantly, Clary walked over to the swings, only to find a head of golden hair, staring at his feet. She leaned against one of the metal poles, holding up the swing set. "Jace?" She asked, watching as his head shot upright, and he stood up, spinning around to look at her. "You actually showed up." It was with those words, Clary was waiting for something horrible to happen to her. Some hidden camera crew to pop out and scream that she'd been pranked by Jace Herondale, and some ice cold water to be poured on her head. She shivered, feeling the cold of the icy water, even though there was none.

No one popped out, though. It was just her and Jace, and that was almost worse, somehow. The tension was almost tangible in the air. "I did," Clary said, almost not believing it herself. "What did you want me here for?" She asked, getting right to the point, trying to keep a clear mind. Jace's face was unreadable, and Clary knew immediately that he was wearing his mask. It hurt a little, knowing that he felt the need to wear his mask around her, but then again, they weren't friends.

They weren't anything.

"I wanted to apologize," Jace said, from the tense look on his face, how he looked slightly impatient, Clary guessed he didn't want to be doing this. So why was he? Clary nodded slowly, time seemingly have been slowed, seconds dragged out into minutes, to what felt like hours, what felt like years. "You can't even say it, can you?" Clary finally asked, her green eyes flicking up from where they rested on the trees that encased them. Jace didn't reply immediately, but he looked even more impatient than the last time Clary had looked at him. He looked almost...bored. "Of course you can't," Clary muttered, laughing at herself a little, as she turned to go back through the way she'd come. There was a small opening in the trees, which she was just small enough to fit through, which worked out perfectly. If she expected Jace to grab her arm like last time, she was mistaken, because there was no sudden sparks of electricity running through her arm, up and down her spine. Just cold, breaking through her leather jacket.

* * *

 _He isn't worth it_ , Clary's brain told her, but the small, incessant ache in her chest told her otherwise. There was the familiar prickling of tears behind her eyes, the heat rising to her face. But she couldn't cry, she refused to cry over Jace. She refused to mourn the lost of her best friend again, because no matter who he had been, he wasn't that person now. And, unfortunately, you can't just hop into a metal tube and go back in time.

Isabelle was there, suddenly, leaning against Clary's door frame, she looked sympathetic. "Clary, please don't cry," she said, most likely easily recognizing the sings that she was going to cry. "I don't care what he said, he's not worth it-we both know it." Clary nodded, sniffling a little, closing her eyes, reminding herself that Jace wasn't the person she had known. It was hard.

"He's a total ass," Clary said, her voice low, as she calmed herself, trying to fend off the building tears. "He couldn't even say he was sorry," she laughed, humourlessly. Isabelle shook her head, her eyebrows furrowed angrily. "Whatever. I just really want to not think about him," Clary said, standing up from her spot on the bed. "American Horror Story?" Isabelle asked, a slow grin spreading across her face, one inky eyebrow raised. Clary smiled, despite her crappy mood. "You know me too well."

* * *

"That guy is hot," Isabelle said quietly, her eyes glued to the screen. To say the least, the new season of American Horror Story was full of surprises, but, no sign of Evan Peters so far. "Yeah," Clary responded, just as distracted as Isabelle. The couch sunk down, and then, "hey, guys, what are we watching?"

Clary held up her hand to stop Simon's talking, trying to press it to his lips, she ended up covering his face, with her small hand. "Shh," she muttered. "American Horror Story." Clary was very engrossed in the show, and nothing could draw her attention away-not even the apartment catching fire. "Hot guys," Isabelle added, and Clary couldn't help the laugh that escaped her, while she could practically hear Simon roll his eyes. "Do you guys ever watch anything else?" He questioned.

"Will you maybe, I don't know, shut up?" Clary asked half-mindedly. Simon leaned back into the couch, arms crossed, and something black in his hands. And then the television screen goes black, and Clary and Isabelle are staring at it like idiots, waiting for it to come back on. And then, slowly, their attention turns to Simon, who wears a smug grin. "Simon!" Isabelle exclaimed. "We were watching that!"

"I noticed," Simon replied dryly. "But, seriously, all you guys ever do is watch American Horror Story."

Clary rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, elbows cupped in the palms of her hands. "You'd understand if you were gay and liked horror movies," she said, giving him a "duh" expression. By the look on Simon's face, Clary guessed that if he'd been drinking anything, he'd been choking on it, having a coughing fit, or spitting out the substance. Clary could really see the former happening. "What she said," Isabelle grumbled, gesturing to Clary, who had this far off expression on her face, and a small, amused smile playing on her lips. "Clary?" Simon waved a hand in front of her face, trying to regain her attention.

"Yeah?" She asked, shaking away the hazy dream of Simon choking on water, as she and Isabelle laughed their heads off. "What are you thinking about?" Simon asked, pushing up his glasses. Clary shook her head, looking down at her lap. "Oh, nothing," she said. "Just you...choking to death on water," she smiled sickeningly sweet at him. His chocolate eyes widened, his complexion paling visibly. "W-why would you be thinking of that?" Simon squeaked. Clary twirled a piece of red hair around her finger, eyes wide and innocent. "No reason," she said, fighting back the urge to laugh at the mental picture of Simon choking on water. She'd probably seem like a lunatic.

* * *

"Clary, get up!" Someone hissed, shaking her shoulder. Groaning, Clary rolled over, onto her back. The ceiling was blank, some shadows being thrown across it from the faint illumination of the moon. "What?" She asked, turning her head slowly to face whomever it may be. "Clary, get up," Simon hissed. Sitting up, she squinted at him in the darkness. "What-why?"

Simon's hand was on her wrist, pulling her up from under the covers. "Just get up, would you?" Groaning again, Clary complied, just so she could get back to bed faster.

The living room was brightly lit, Isabelle pacing the room. Her eyes concentrated on the floor, biting her lip. She looked up, "Clary," she breathed. She was very confused at this point, until her eyes landed on the smashed front window, the shards of glass lying around the room. There were rocks on the floor, and small bits of paper surrounding them. "Did you read them?" Clary asked sinking down to the floor, on her knees, unfolding the bits of paper as fast as she could. "Clary-no, don't-" Isabelle cut off, reaching for her. Simon doing the same, but not before Clary pulled away, the broken glass breaking more under her legs. She hissed in pain, clutching the pieces of paper tightly to her chest. "Let me read them," she said, pulling the paper away from her chest.

The edges were torn, crumpled, bent, but it couldn't hide the dark black ink from her eyes.

 _Stay away from Jace, or you'll be sorry._

Clary gasped, eyes glued to the paper. She sifted through them, quickly reading the scrawl on them. Each and everyone of the pieces of paper contained a threat to stay away from Jace. Hastily, Clary stood up, not even bothering to wipe away the glass from her knees, or to release the papers from her death grip. "Clary, where are you going?" Simon asked, taking a step forward, as if he was going to stop her, but Isabelle was already marching forward, grabbing Clary's arm, as she pulled on a pair of shoes. They could have been two different left-footed shoes and she wouldn't have noticed. "I'm going-I'm going out," Clary said, looking frantically around the room, as if the people responsible for it would be sitting on their couch, smirking triumphantly at her. "I just-I need some air. I'll be back," Clary said, shooting Isabelle and Simon an apologetic look, shaking herself free of Isabelle's grasp. She grabbed her jacket from where it lay across the back of the couch, shrugging it on as fast as possible.

"I'll be back," Clary said again, fumbling with the door knob, finally prevailing to pull it open.

She didn't hear whatever Simon and Isabelle were shouting after her, as she ran blindly down the street. What had she done? She hated Jace, well, kind of. When Clary looked back up, some of the fuzziness clearing from her vision, she found herself standing in the park where Jace usually asked to meet. Her head swung around, back and forth, checking if anyone was there. She didn't see anyone, at first glance, but after her hysteria started to wear off, she saw the gold, saw it emanating from him. He looked human, not like the robot he usually resembled. He had his look on his face, as he stared at her, one she couldn't place, but then again, lately she hadn't been able to place any of his expressions. Clary could feel the tears staining her cheeks, feel her heart rate speeding up. And then his muscled arms were open, and Clary was stumbling into them, like some sad, lonely drunk person. They closed around her, and her head lay on his chest, his hand rubbing up and down her back. He was whispering something over, and over again, but she couldn't focus long enough to actually _hear_ the words.

He was definitely different from ninth grade, she could tell that much from the hard muscles under his shirt, and his arms that were holding her tightly. She was crying, and she didn't know why-over some notes? Surely not. But then, Clary could finally hear what he was saying on repeat, like a skipping song. " _Clary_."

* * *

 **Hey guys! I apologize for not updating this weekend, it's just that it was Thanksgiving weekend, and I'm sick.**

 **So, yeah, I really hope you all liked this chapter.**

 **Unfortunately, only a few of you came close to guessing what was going to happen on Clary's "date" with Sebastian, thinking that it was a set up Jace had concocted to get her there. But, nope! Sebastian is indeed not so sleazy or low as to do something like that. Well, not right now. Actually I'm not sure.**

 **Whatever.**

 **:D**


	11. Taki's

_A month and a half later..._

Clary sat at the kitchen table, Isabelle opposite her. "I don't see why we have to plan this a whole week in advance," Clary whined, clicking a pen repeatedly. Isabelle grabbed her hand, silencing the clicking noise. "A week isn't very long to plan the best Halloween party of the year," she informed Clary, as she wrote down more things in a black notebook, covered in gold and silver swirls. "Izzy, I really don't see why you want to have this party," Simon said, entering the kitchen. Isabelle groaned. "Do none of you care about my reputation?"

"No, not at all," Simon said at the same time that Clary said, "Nope."

"And besides," Clary said, standing up from her wooden chair, stretching her arms above her head. "You don't even know half of these people." Isabelle shrugged, going back to meticulously planning a Halloween party that only she and half or so of the school's population cared about. And that was only because there was going to be free alcohol. "Why are you so against fun, Clarissa?" Isabelle asked, exasperated. "I am not!" Clary replied, feigning hurt, bringing a hand to her heart. "How dare you?" Isabelle rolled her eyes at Clary's dramatics, as Simon hopped up onto the counter, his long legs hanging off the counter almost to the point where they touched the floor. "I really don't see why you want to dance with some drunk college kids at some creepy, abandoned house, where I can almost guarantee a guy is going to try to sleep with you," Simon said, shaking his head a little bit.

"Is one of them going to be you?" Clary asked, poking Simon in the chest. Simon's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, closing it, like he didn't know what to say. Finally, he squeaked out, "no, absolutely not!" Clary scoffed in disbelief, before walking out of the kitchen, down the hall to her bedroom. She had been avoiding Jace as much as possible since that night when she had cried in his arms until the sun came up, and she couldn't cry anymore. Her lunch date with Sebastian had gone well, but she wasn't really sure where they stood thus far. Her phone started buzzing on her bed, moving around the messy pile of blankets. She walked over quickly, swiping at the screen to answer, then proceeding to hold it to her ear.

"Seb," she breathed, a wide smile cracking her face.

"Hey Clary," he said. "What are you doing?"

"Helping Izzy plan some stupid Halloween party," Clary said, plopping down on the floor, her back against the bedframe. Sebastian let out a laugh, a sound that made people-anyone around him-want to laugh, too. "Halloween party, you say?"

"Yes, Halloween party. At some old, creepy house by a cemetery," Clary said, her eyebrows raised, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "Why, did you want to suffer with me?" Sebastian laughed again, and Clary could hear an angry voice in the background. "I would love to suffer with you," Sebastian replied, bringing on an even bigger smile for Clary. "I'll text you the address later, but right now, it sounds like someone really wants your attention," she said, hearing the yelling again. It sounded familiar, and Clary only prayed that it wasn't who she thought it was. "Oh, that? It's just Jace, yelling at me to put down my phone so we can get on with rehearsal," but, fate was never that kind to Clary, and today was no different. "Shut up, I'm on the phone!" Sebastian hollered, but it wasn't very loud, because he had more than likely pulled the phone away from his mouth. "Who you talking to, Verlac?" She could hear the voice-a girl-taunting.

"My friend," he said back, firmly. So that's all they were. Friends. Clary found that she wasn't as crushed as she originally anticipated she would be, if it turned out that he only wanted to be friends. Maybe it was because she knew she'd never really been the relationship type? No, it couldn't be that-she could remember when she was ten, fantasizing about Jace and her one day getting married. But of course, she was ten. And things change. Lots of things.

"And that friend is so important that we can't get back to rehearsal?" She knew that voice, she would recognize it anywhere. Jace. She could hear Sebastian trying to come up with an answer, but Jace plowed on, even without a reply. "If this friend is oh, so important, go on and tell us their name." It was more of a demand, than anything else, and Sebastian really had no way of saying "no". "I'm pretty sure you know her, Jace," Sebastian said.

Clary heard Jace scoff, although it was a faint noise being heard from a distance away, through a phone speaker. "Yeah, because I hang out with your friends, Verlac." She could just picture Sebastian, the face he made when he was uncomfortable; lips slightly pursed, eyebrows a little furrowed, while his fingers tapped against his leg. "I, uh, I think you used to. You know her-red hair, green eyes...Ringing any bells?" There wasn't any response, but Clary knew why. It was all because she'd pretended he was the same person who would push her on the swings, have a horror movie marathon with her, tease her about how she couldn't raise just one eyebrow. And then she started avoiding him like the plague, and that probably made him angry. Because, well, who wouldn't get angry if someone started avoiding them like the plague and they didn't know why? Although, Clary was pretty sure he knew why, he just wouldn't acknowledge it.

And then Sebastian was back on the phone, talking to her directly. He cleared his throat. "Sorry, Clary, I'll have to call you later." And the line was dead, the dial tone sounding in her ear.

* * *

"He just hung up?!" Isabelle demanded, a little outraged that Sebastian had hung up on Clary, even more so because of Jace. Clary nodded her head, running a hand through her inferno red curls again, probably making even more knots for her to brush out later. _Fantastic_. "Yes, Iz, that's what I said."

Isabelle made a frustrated noise, sort of like a groan, and a grunt mixed together. It sounded _way_ too sexual for Clary's liking. "Isabelle, if you love me, please never make that noise again," Clary said, her voice pleading. Isabelle cocked her head to the side, an amused smirk lighting up her face. "Why? Does it bother you?" And then she began to make it repeatedly. Good thing Simon was off working a shift at the comic book store. Clary didn't even want to imagine what might happen if he was home.

"It does, actually," Clary said, once Isabelle had stopped making the God awful noise. "But, aside from that, I'm tired of being cooped up in this apartment, let's go out. Do something." Clary stood up, looking down at Isabelle, who was still sitting on her chair, pulled tight to the kitchen table. She wasn't about to say it out loud, especially with Isabelle in the room, but she was so desperate to get out and do something other than go to school, that she was willing to go shopping with Isabelle. "Well, fine. What do you want to do?" Isabelle asked.

Shrugging, Clary left the kitchen. Isabelle was standing beside her within the blink of an eye. "Well...?" Isabelle prompted. Clary opened her mouth to answer, but clamped it shut again, having absolutely no idea what to say. She found her mind wandering to the night when she'd cried, burrowing her face in Jace's shirt, breathing in his smell-that was something that hadn't changed. She remembered the broken front window, the rocks, and threats. It was partly why she had been reluctant to go out for a few days afterwards. Though, it hadn't happened since that night-probably because she _had_ stayed away from Jace. Clary hoped it didn't happen again, considering getting a new window hadn't been particularly cheap.

"Clary, did you even hear what I've been saying for the last like, three minutes?" Isabelle asked, eyebrow raised. "No, sorry," Clary smiled sheepishly. "Tell me again?"

"I thought we could see if Simon wanted to go get something to eat later. Until then, though, we could go check out some decorations for the party?" Isabelle suggested, followed by Clary nodding her head. It was a pretty good plan, they needed decorations, anyways. "Yeah, sure," she said, "just let me grab my coat."

Running down the hall, and sliding to a stop in front of her room, Clary went inside the room, quickly grabbing her sneakers, slipping them on, followed by her jacket. The leather was worn, but it was comfy, that was for sure.

"Clary, come on!" Isabelle called from the living room. That girl was almost as impatient as Clary, which was a lot. "Yeah, yeah," Clary muttered, walking down the hall, back to immaculately dressed Isabelle, in her heeled boots. "Let's go," Isabelle sighed, obviously disappointed that Clary wasn't dressed up for this small outing. "Don't look at me like that," Clary frowned, as Isabelle opened the front door. "Like what?" Isabelle asked, looking back at Clary, as she walked to the sidewalk.

"Like you're my mother, who's absolutely disappointed with my life choices," Clary deadpanned. "Maybe I _am_ your mother, who is absolutely disappointed with your life choices," Isabelle countered. Clary burst out laughing, not able to restrain herself. "You are _so_ not my mother," Clary said through laughs, gasping for air. "Hm," was all Isabelle said, as they walked.

* * *

"Hey, Si," Clary greeted, spotting him immediately, where he stood behind the counter. He smiled at the pair of girls who'd just entered the store. "Hey guys, what are you doing here?"

"We wanted to see if you wanted to go out for dinner with us later?" Isabelle asked, twirling a piece of glossy hair around her finger, giving Simon "the look," the one that could make Simon willing to do anything, whether it was jump off a bridge, or dive into a pool of hungry piranhas. "S-sure," he stuttered, as Isabelle shot Clary a triumphant smile. She had to fight really hard not to smile or laugh at how whipped Isabelle had Simon. "Great," Isabelle smiled. "Until then, Clary and I will be shopping for Halloween decorations," when Simon looked over at clary, she gave him a sarcastic smile. "Have fun," Simon said, trying-and failing to hide a smile. "Oh, I will," Clary said, plotting her revenge against Simon for enjoying her seemingly infinite torture. She could just decorate his room with pink party favours, or something.

* * *

After a few seemingly endless hours of shopping for the "perfect" Halloween decorations, they were returning to the apartment, each girls' arms filled to the brim with bags of decorations. There was a whistle, followed by, "damn!" as the girls entered the house. Clary was so going to strangle Simon for enjoying this.

"Si, could you come here for a minute?" Clary asked, trying to sound normal, and _not_ like she was trying to draw him into a trap. "Yeah, sure," was his reply, Clary couldn't hide the devious grin that spread across her small face, but thankfully, all the bags covered her face. When he got close enough, Clary dumped almost every bag she held onto him, as he struggled to get a hold on all of them. "Thanks Simon, my arms were going to fall off," Clary sighed, wiping her hands off on her jeans. Simon simply grunted in response, trying not to fall over with all the bags in his arms. "Weakling!" Clary shouted accusingly, watching as Isabelle dumped all of her own bags onto the couch. "Really, Simon?" Isabelle asked, watching him walk over to the couch, sighing when he dumped them all out of his arms. "Those were heavy!" Simon defended himself.

Isabelle rolled her eyes, sauntering into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water. She gulped down about a third of the clear liquid before turning to look at Clary and Simon. "Where should we go out to dinner?" Isabelle pondered. Clary shrugged, while Simon's brown eyes lit up. "I heard these guys at work talking about some fancy restaurant near downtown...Taki's? Apparently a lot of celebrities eat there," Simon nodded enthusiastically. The place _did_ sound pretty cool, though.

"Perfect," Isabelle's obsidian eyes were alight with excitement. This place was totally her scene, she could even be one of those celebrities, if she wanted to. She was pretty enough to be a model, Clary didn't know why she wouldn't try for it, though. "Clary, come with me," she grinned, grabbing for Clary's wrist. But then, she turned her attention to Simon. "You're getting dressed up, no exceptions," when Simon tried to open his mouth to protest, Isabelle put her pointer finger and thumb together, dragging them across her mouth, like a zipper zipping up a hoodie. Not another word was uttered by either Clary or Simon.

* * *

Clary was sitting in front of Isabelle's vanity table, as brushes danced across her skin. She was a little giddy to see what she looked like, mostly because Isabelle had been prattling on about how amazing she was going to make Clary look. "Okay," Isabelle said, and Clary could hear the brushes and whatever makeup palette Isabelle had been holding deposited onto the vanity table. "Open."

Clary was impressed, like really, _really_ impressed. Her eyes were heavily lined with their usual black liner, but it was smudged a little bit, giving her a smoky look, her lashes long and thick. Her lips were stained pink, and her hair looked better than whenever Clary did it herself, somehow. "I used a lip stain instead of gloss or lipstick, because we're going to be eating," Isabelle explained, running her hands effortlessly through Clary's loose curls. "What do you think?"

"I think it's not fair that you're so good at this," Clary smiled, turning her body awkwardly to look at Isabelle. Isabelle nodded, biting her lip through a smile, turning to get a pile of clothes sitting on her bed, folded nicely. Holding the pile out to Clary, she warned, "put this on, but I swear to God, Clarissa, if you wreck that gorgeous hair I will-" Clary cut her off, holding up a hand. "I get it," she laughed, taking the pile of clothes, standing up, heading to the bathroom to put them on. "I die if I mess up my hair," she finished, leaving Isabelle's room completely.

Clary closed the bathroom door, clicking the lock into place. She peeled off her clothes, unfolding what she discovered to be a dress. It was black-as per usual-and had a floral pattern all over it, the flowers pink and orange-ish. Kind of faded. She carefully pulled on the dress, as not to mess up her hair-because she'd rather not die tonight. It hugged her torso, but was looser at the bottom, were it was pleated loosely. For once, it seemed, one of the dresses Isabelle had picked out for her that wasn't like a second skin, nor did reach barely her mid-thigh. She would have to applaud Isabelle.

Clary slid down the hallway in bare-footed, stopping briefly by her room to throw her dirty clothes into the hamper by the door. She walked into Isabelle's room, and immediately, Isabelle made a motion with her hand for Clary to spin around-like a ballerina. She complied, spinning around, the bottom of her dress flared up, almost like an inflating balloon. Her hair was in the air, too, landing softly on her back when she ceased spinning. Isabelle's eyes were alight with delight, her hands clamped together as she took in the dress on her model. "I love it," Isabelle decided, "what do you think?"

"I like it," Clary replied plainly, not wanting to over-inflate Isabelle's ego. She'd be just like Jace if her ego got any bigger. "I know what would make it even better, though," Clary waggled her eyebrows as best she could, before dashing down the hallway, to her bedroom. She rooted through her closet, rushing to find that black flat hat she knew she had. "Ah-ha!" She said, holding up the black hat, like a flag representing her victory.

Isabelle was looking at her disapprovingly from the doorway, frowning at the piece of material in Clary's hands. "What is that?" She squinted at the object, even though Clary knew Isabelle had twenty-twenty vision. Clary looked down at the flat hat, then back up at Isabelle, "a hat," she shrugged. Isabelle let out a breath, rolling her eyes, "I know what it is, Fairchild. Why do you have it?" Clary bit her lip a little, placing the hat on top of her head, angling it upwards a little bit. She looked at her reflection in the mirror hanging up on her wall, liking the way the too-girly-for-her dress and the black hat looked together. "I like the way it looks, _Lightwood_ ," Clary declared, turning back to Isabelle.

Isabelle let out a frustrated groan, and it was then that Clary noticed she was wearing makeup, bright red lips to compliment the ruby pendant she would no doubt wear. "We're supposed to be dressing up," she said, looking a little stressed. "Yeah, I know, Izzy, but honestly, you can't expect me to wear this dress with a pair of heels, can you? It's way too girly," Clary made a face of disgust, pretending that she was gagging, earning a small laugh from Isabelle.

"Fine," Isabelle caved. "Wear the hat, I've got to make sure Simon isn't wearing the nerdiest shirt he owns, just to spite me," rolling here eyes, she was gone down the hall, banging on Simon's bedroom door, demanding entry. Clary sighed, smiling at the mental picture of Simon and Izzy as a couple. She looked back at her reflection, staring mostly at the flat hat, that had in bold, white writing, _BROOKLYN_ , and on the side, in much smaller writing, _JCH_. They were Jace's initials. Clary remembered the day he had gotten the hat, wearing it proudly to school-he'd looked absolutely idiotic, and Clary hadn't been able to stop laughing. Finally, she'd stolen it off the top of his head, placing it upon her own, claiming it looked better on her-which it totally did. _And still does_ , Clary thought. And then she remembered, shoes. She needed shoes.

"Iz, are there shoes?" Clary shouted down the hallway. "Pick your own shoes!" Was the reply. Clary fist pumped into the air, "yes!" She hissed into the silence filling her room.

* * *

Clary had settled on a pair of black Chuck Taylors, having been bored of riffling through her limited amount of shoes. Now, she waited impatiently for Isabelle and Simon to be ready, sitting on the counter. "Simon, come on!" Could be heard from the hallway, as Isabelle, with much effort, pulled Simon into the kitchen. He was clad in a pair of clean-looking black jeans, and a regular blue t-shirt. He didn't look like Simon, without the gamer tee. Isabelle was looking like a model in her white blouse, paired with black jeans, a red purse, and her signature ruby pendent. Too bad Clary hadn't put money on the idea that Isabelle would be wearing it. "I hope you're ready, because we're leaving regardless. We can't miss our reservations," Isabelle informed them.

"Yes ma'am," Clary saluted, hopping down from the counter.

Simon looked like it was physically paining him to wear clean clothes, and clary found it amusing. "Come on, Si, just got to suck it up for a little while. After that, you can go back to wearing weeks old clothes and playing video games, alright?" Clary said, putting a hand on his shoulder, Simon nodded, pushing his glasses up. He still didn't look very happy, though.

* * *

The restaurant was packed, and that was even counting the line outside. Quite a few groups of fans had gathered outside, letting out an ear-piercing shrill whenever they thought they caught a glimpse of their favourite celebrity, or any celebrity in general, really. There were paparazzi, and so, so many flashing cameras. Clary was sure a few had taken pictures of her, but she couldn't imagine why-the whole "Jace's best friend" thing had blown over, hadn't it?

They were now at the front of the line, and a snooty-looking man with a comb over, and small glasses looked at them with undisguised disgust, his voice sounding sanctimonious, and like he was using a faux-French accent when he spoke. "Reservation?"

"It's under Lightwood," Isabelle said curtly, obviously noticing the man's attitude towards them. He wasn't trying to hide it whatsoever. The man looked down at the podium in front of him, the only thing separating him from herself, Isabelle and Simon. "Ah, yes, I see," the man said, as a blonde waitress came up beside him. He pointed to something on the podium, the blonde girl nodded, grabbing a few menus from the stack on the small counter behind the man. She smiled brightly at them, Clary couldn't help but notice her eyes-they were blue, but kind of turquoise at the same time. Nothing like Alec's eyes, though.

The waitress professionally skirted around other staff members, avoiding tables and people's feet, where Clary almost tripped twice. She finally stopped at a booth in the back, the back of the booth was tall, blood red velvet, where the bottom part of the booth was dark maroon leather. The table was black, and spotless. Not a scratch or scuff visible to the naked eye. It gave Clary the strange urge to carve her name into it just because. She really couldn't stand to have everything so neat and tidy. The waitress motioned for them to sit, and they all shuffled in, Simon, then Isabelle, then Clary. The restaurant was dimly lit in the back area, and the conversation was mostly murmurs among the people back there. It seemed more...private-perhaps it was where they put the celebrities, Clary thought, a little amused by the idea.

"My name is Kaelie," the waitress smiled, handing out the menus to each of them. It was then that Clary noticed all the makeup that covered her face, like layering too much paint, it looked awful. Her boobs looked too big to be real, and her smile was just a little too friendly, making it appear forced. "I'll be your server tonight," she clasped her hands together, standing straight. A few moments later, after they had all flipped open their menus, she spoke again, "can I start you off with some drinks, Miss Lightwood?" She was looking directly at Isabelle. The Lightwoods must have had some sort of special connection at Taki's, to get such a-from what Clary could tell-good seat. "That would be great, Kaelie," Isabelle smiled tightly. "I'll take a water." Kaelie nodded, turning her attention to Clary. "I'll have the same, please," she added a smile, just for good measure. Then it was Simon's turn. "I'll get a coke," he said, sending Kaelie away with the promise of their drinks arriving soon.

Sure enough, exactly two minutes later, a water was placed in front of both Clary and Isabelle, a coke in front of Simon. "Are you ready to order?" Kaelie asked. Isabelle nodded. "I'll get the Garden Salad," she said, promptly closing her menu, pushing it forward for Kaelie to take. The blonde nodded, and Clary opened her mouth, taking a breath before speaking. "I'll get the coconut pancakes." Simon sent her a worried look, though she didn't know why, as she listened to him order. "Can I get the fettuccini alfredo?"

"Absolutely," replied, shooting them all another sickeningly sweet smile before departing.

Clary's gaze drifted over to the table on a diagonal from theirs, and watched as a fair-haired girl directed a group of three men into the booth so similar to their own. The waitress was blocking most of their faces from view, save for one of the men, who was sitting to the far right of the booth. He had black hair that glittered in the dim light whenever he moved, his eyes covered in a dark mix of colours, purples and blues, his clothes even more flamboyant than his makeup and hair. He wore a metallic red blazer over what appeared to be a plain white shirt with some glitter on it, his pants a deep plumb colour. He was so attention grabbing, that Clary hadn't noticed the waitress move from her line of sight, and now the other men sitting with this flamboyant man coated in glitter, were easily visible. She really wished she hadn't looked, because now, she wanted to duck under the table and hide.

His aureate eyes and hair seemed to glow in the minimal orange-ish light that was coming from small, glass-covered lamps around the restaurant. The other man had that familiar shade of inky hair, and those piercing blue eyes. She quickly averted her attention, turning to Isabelle, propping her head up on her hand, hoping that her arm hid her face from view of Jace. "So," she said, trying to calm her rapidly increasing heart rate. "Misses Lightwood, huh? What's that about?"

"My parents travel to LA a lot, and whenever they do, they eat her. I think they sponsored a project to start construction of a Taki's in New York, or something?" Isabelle shrugged, taking a sip of water from her-what had to be-crystal glass. "But, I know you don't really care, so why don't you tell me why you're asking," Isabelle said, drawing Simon's attention.

"Well, folks," Clary said, imitating a tour guide. "If you'll just take a look in front of us, a little to the left, you'll see a certain Herondale surrounded by his posse of two. This posse includes, a certain Alexander Lightwood, and a very sparkly companion."

Isabelle's eyes narrowed at her brother, but then drifted to the flamboyant man, and her expression turned to wonder. "Who's that?" She asked eyeing him skeptically. "I don't know, Isabelle," Clary ground out , trying to keep her voice low so as not to draw Jace's attention-he could probably hear a needle drop on a New York street-but for now, he looked distracted by Alec and sparkly man. "He's very...extravagant," Simon noted, brushing some hair out of his face.

"Really? I couldn't tell from his glittery up-do, makeup, and blazer so red a fire truck would be jealous," Clary said sarcastically, wanting to hit her head against the table repeatedly. _Why, of all nights, did it have to be tonight that Jace was here?_ Clary thought, knowing there was a very slim chance that Jace wouldn't notice her. "Someone's on edge," Simon remarked. Clary shot him a look, telling him that for his own safety, he should shut his mouth.

A little while later, their food arrived, steaming hot-in Simon's case. Clary's pancakes smelled heavenly, and she wanted nothing more than to dig in like an ape, with her hands. But, for the sake of looking sane, Clary restrained herself, watching as Kaelie put down a small bowl of maple syrup beside her plate. "Thank you," Isabelle dismissed Kaelie, who promptly left, muttering something under her breath.

Isabelle frowned down at her salad. "Wish I would have gotten those pancakes," she eyed Clary's pancakes enviously. Clary pulled the plate away, all the while pouring syrup over the food. "No way, Iz," Clary shook her head, picking up her fork and knife. "Gee, thanks," Isabelle said, picking at her garden salad.

They weren't even ten minutes into their dinner, when they heard, "damn it!" From Simon, who had gotten some alfredo sauce on his shirt. He began wiping at it furiously, trying to get the small white spot to vanish from his shirt. It wasn't working, and all he managed to do was smudge the stain even more. "Would you just...stop that? It looks weird," Clary observed, hoping no one was watching how ridiculous Simon was making himself appear. Simon threw the napkin down, onto the table, folding his arms over his chest like a child. "Don't pout," Isabelle said, mimicking Simon's pouty face, causing him to break out into a small smile.

"My God," Clary exclaimed, exasperated. "Just date and get it over with, would you?" Both Simon and Isabelle paled, looking away from each other, down at their food. Simon was turning pink, while Isabelle remained stoic, staring down at her salad. Clary groaned at her friends' stupidity, and dug into her own meal.

* * *

Clary had excused herself from the table, to use the restroom, and had had to stop and ask a waitress where they were. Not her proudest moment, but she really needed to pee.

After drying her hands, Clary pushed open the bathroom door, beginning the walk back down the dark hallway. She didn't understand the appeal of having next to no light, and tripping over anything you couldn't see, but apparently, a lot of celebrities-and the Lightwoods-did. The hallway was long, and she felt like she was walking through a haunted house, where someone could jump out and scare you at any given moment. But no one did.

Suddenly, though, she was pinned up against one of the many spotless walls, warm, muscled arms encaging her. She was sensing some serious déjà vu. "You've been avoiding me," his voice echoed through the deserted hall. "Well," Clary said, fighting her automatic reflex to wiggle free. "I've been busy, college and all." She couldn't really see Jace's expression, but she could see his aureate eyes, and her fingers itched for her pencils and some paper, wanting to capture the odd glow the dimness of the lights gave his eyes.

"But you're somehow finding time for Sebastian?" Jace asked, tilting his head to the side a little. Clary wanted to shrug, but knew if she did, she'd end up touching Jace's hands, and she didn't want that. They were already so close to touching, and she didn't want to know what she'd do if they did touch, considering what happened only a month and a half ago. "I really don't see why you care."

Jace's fingers were running over the rim of her hat, looking at it studiously. He changed the subject, "you're wearing my hat." Clary didn't really know what to say. _I found it in my closet, and it went with my dress, plus I was feeling nostalgic_. No, she was definitely not saying that. "It still looks better on me," is what came out, she just couldn't believe her voice was even, considering their proximity, and his glorious smell of laundry soap, and sunshine-if sunshine had a smell, that is. "It always did," Jace remarked, and the way the corners of his mouth quirked up into a smirk made her want to laugh: the left side always went up a little bit more than the right, and Clary had always teased him about it. She found herself wanting to reach out and touch it.

"What are you looking at?" Jace asked, the smirk falling from his face. Little did Clary know, a small smile was gracing her face, as she remembered the first time she'd brought up the fact that the left side of his mouth went up more than the right when he smirked. They'd ended up in a n argument over it, Clary shoving a mirror into his face to prove she was right. "Nothing," Clary shook her head, biting her lip. "Still a bad liar, I see," Jace said, the smirk weaseling its way back onto his face.

This time, Clary couldn't restrain herself from reaching out and touching the left corner of his mouth. His skin was so warm and soft, just like she remembered it felt. "Your mouth," she said softly, noticing that he was holding his breath, his body tense. But she didn't move her finger from his face, not even by a millimetre. "It still does that...thing," Clary said, not really sure how else to put it.

"What thing?" Jace asked, his voice low, his warm breath fanning across Clary's skin, sending tingles through her. "The left side, it goes up more than the right side. Remember?" As soon as the words were out, she felt stupid; he probably wouldn't remember, this wasn't her Jace. But maybe he was still in there, somewhere.

"It does not," Jace said firmly, reminding her much of the argument they'd had about it. "It does," Clary said, her voice still soft. "I was right in either grade, I'm still right now." She dropped her hand from his face, letting it fall back to her side. "If you don't believe me, consult a mirror."

His laugh was a melodic thing, much like when he sang. She never wanted the sound to stop. She wondered to herself how he could make her feel...this way, and then hate him another minute. It was the strangest thing. It felt like a never ending cycle. And just like that, the trance was broken, and she could hear the clicking of silverware, the chatter of people, smell the food. "Aren't there some people waiting on you?" Clary asked. "They can wait a few minutes longer," was his reply.

"Sorry, but I have friends who can't wait. You _have_ met Isabelle, right?" Clary asked, easily slipping under his arm. Before he could get a word out, she was gone, leaving him like he'd left her on the last day of ninth grade.

* * *

 **Hey guys! I really liked writing this chapter, so I hope you all enjoyed reading it.**

 **Here is Clary's dress and hat: .**

 **And another picture of it: .**

 **So, yeah. I really love reading all of your reviews, they make my day, especially reading them before I have to get up early to go to volleyball practice.**

 **And, for one you who asked, yes, I am Canadian, so don't mind he different spelling:)**

 **Can we get to 150 reviews?**

 **:D**


	12. Cemetery

The weekend had finally arrived, but any hopes Clary had had to sleep in were quickly crushed under Isabelle's stilettos. Because Clary was being legitimately pulled from her bed, Isabelle demanding that she get up so they could go and scope out the cemetery where her Halloween party was to be held.

"Clary, please, get up!" Isabelle pleaded with an only half awake Clary. "I need someone to come with me, and I can't wake Simon up." Clary groaned, trying to pull her arm free of Isabelle's desperate grasp. "It's Saturday, let me sleep, just this once?" Clary asked, burying her face into a pair of jeans laying on the floor. "No. Now get up," Isabelle ordered.

"Why are we friends again?" Clary asked, removing her face from the pair of jeans to look up at Isabelle, who shrugged. "Fate? I don't know, but you've stuck around this long, no going back now." _You have no idea_ , Clary thought indignantly, letting out another long, drawn out groan. "You're buying me coffee," Clary said, using her one free arm to push herself up off of the floor. She really needed to vacuum, or something. Then, her right arm fell to her side, indicating that Isabelle had left, leaving Clary to get dressed.

She had only had four classes Friday, but had spent the remainder of the day doing her required reading, and finishing two essays that were due on Monday. If you asked, she couldn't tell you how long she simply stared at a blank computer screen, waiting for some genius idea to hit her. It was not her most remarkable moment.

Standing up on tired limbs, Clary stumbled to her closet, pulling out a messily folded pair of jeans, and her favourite American Horror Story shirt. Now, all she had to do was brush through her abundance of tangled hair, and then shower.

* * *

Her shower had been refreshing, especially after having to rake through her tangled hair. It was a wonder she wasn't bald yet. She was just pulling on her left boot, when the clicking of Isabelle's shoes sounded through the hallway. Soon enough, she was standing in Clary's door way, her inky hair pulled up in a pony tail, not a single hair astray. She envied Isabelle and the way that her hair would cooperate with her. "Ready to go?" Isabelle asked, leaning her body against the frame of the door.

"Hm," Clary said, leaning back on her bed, as if to lay down. "I think I'll a little nap, considering you woke me up so early on a Saturday." Isabelle was already in motion, pulling up Clary's mall body from where it lay flat against the mattress. "No, come on," and Clary was on her feet, being pulled to the front door. "I need my jacket, damn it woman!" Isabelle rolled her eyes, releasing Clary's hand, only to put both of her own hands on her hips. "It's not cold out. See? I'm not wearing a jacket."

It was Clary's turn to roll her eyes. "Yeah, you never wear a jacket unless its for fashion. What is it you always say? Beauty is pain?"

Isabelle was speechless, which gave Clary immense satisfaction. "Exactly, now, I did not get up this early for you to stand there, did I?" Clary tried at raising an eyebrow, but, of course, both went up, causing Isabelle to cover her mouth as she laughed. Clary huffed a breath, folding her arms over her chest, waiting for Isabelle to open the door and go out.

* * *

Not a moment after Clary and Isabelle had stepped through the creaky, rusty, black-painted gates of the cemetery, did Clary's phone ring, the caller I.D proclaiming it to be Simon. "Simon?" She asked, waiting for him to respond. "Yeah, where are you guys? I woke up and you're both gone."

"Isabelle literally pulled me out of bed, all because she wanted to check out the cemetery for her party," Clary explained, following behind Isabelle as she entered the cemetery. The ground was dirt, with small rocks in it. Small paths that looked the same, just not as wide went all around the cemetery, like a maze, minus the walls. The grass was green in some parts, others it was a yellow-brown colour. "What street? I'll meet you guys there," Simon said. Clary rattled off an address, and hung up. She wandered away from Isabelle, and the intended course, noticing a tall, white marble tombstone. On top was a praying angel, and a bouquet of dying flowers laying in front of it. Clary wondered how long it had been since fresh flowers had been lain in front of the tombstone. The words on the tombstone weren't legible, which surprised Clary, considering how well the rest of the tombstone seemed to be maintained. "Clary, what are you doing?" A hand on her shoulder broke her train of thought. Turning her head, she found it to be Isabelle, Simon a few paces behind her. "Just looking," she said, as if she were browsing a store.

"Well, come on," Isabelle said, jerking her head around, her body with it, going back in her original direction.

* * *

The spot where Isabelle was planning to throw her party was utterly creepy. The trees threw distortedly shaped shadows, even in the cloudy weather, the tombstones old and cracked, crumbling and decaying. Not a patch of green grass in sight. The area was quite large, enough space for about two-hundred people, or so, maybe a DJ booth-since Isabelle wanted one desperately. "This place is seriously scary," Simon murmured to Clary, both watching as Isabelle clapped her hands together, a smile lighting up her face. "This place is perfect!" She exclaimed, pulling out her phone. "I wonder if I can get sort of lights," she wondered out loud. Clary knew it was going to be like this-except more panicked-for the next week. And on the day of the party...well, Clary might just have to pick up some sedatives.

Simon and Isabelle had engaged in a conversation about something, which Clary didn't even bother trying to be a part of; she just didn't feel in the social mood. She started looking at the tombstones, and the next thing she knew, Isabelle nor Simon were anywhere in her line of sight. She looked all around, but she the only thing surrounding her was tombstones, and mausoleums. There were other people there, obviously, but no Isabelle or Simon. Maybe if she just kept looking at the tombstones, she'd find her way back to them? Yeah, fat chance.

But she did keep looking at the tombstones, reading the names and dates on them, observing their structure, storing them in her memory for drawing inspiration. Perhaps she'd come back sometime to sketch. She was walking, looking down at the flat tombstones, when she bumped into something-some _one_. "Oh, I'm so sorry," Clary said, looking up to see who she'd hit. The hair was familiar, the same golden colour, but too long, and the eyes, they were a gorgeous brown colour, not gold. It was Céline Herondale, Jace's mother.

Both of them just stared at the other for a moment, before Céline blinked, and pulled Clary into a hug. "Clary, I haven't seen you in ages," the woman sighed. Releasing Clary, she stepped back, looking Clary over. "How have you been?" Céline asked, giving Clary one of the warmest smiles she'd seen in a while. "I've been good, I actually just started college at UCLA," Clary returned the smile. "Oh, dear, that's wonderful!" The woman's expression turned to a frown, "sometimes I wish Jace had gone to college, you know, instead of getting into music. I know it puts a lot of stress on him, and there's nothing I can do about it." Clary hadn't known that-but then again, Jace could be exaggerating-she'd thought he just went on stage, sang a few songs, and that was it. But maybe that wasn't the case.

"Have you and Jace been talking at all?" Céline asked, tilting her head to the side a little. Clary bit her lip-how did she put this? "I've talked to him a few times, not many. He, um, he did some...things before you two moved that weren't so forgivable," Clary admitted. But from the look on Céline's face, she was probably thinking her son committed murder. "Oh, no, what did he do?" Céline covered her eyes with her hand, as if it could block out whatever it was Clary was about to tell her, make it false. "He didn't tell me he was leaving," Clary said quietly. "I didn't even get a goodbye."

When Clary looked back up, Céline had removed her hand from her eyes, and she looked furious. "That boy," she sighed. "He didn't tell you I'd gotten a new job?" She inquired, Clary shook her head. "That's why we left, not by choice-it was just that the job I had wasn't paying very well, and this job had offered a decent amount. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt you, I hope you know that, Clary," Céline grabbed Clary's hands in her own, her wedding rings catching the little light that there was in the sky. "It wasn't just the job, either, my mother in-law was very ill, and she had no family up here. But, unfortunately, she passed away only a few months later."

"Oh," Clary said stupidly. "I'm sorry," but Céline simply shook her head. "Don't be sorry," she said. "It's not your fault, is it? Besides, she turned bitter when Jace's father passed away."

Clary had known Jace's father, Stephen, had passed away before they'd moved to New York when he was four, but she hadn't known about this Grandmother. "You should have seen Jace when we left," Céline started. "He wouldn't stop looking at pictures of you two together. He fought with me for days about leaving, and I think it was because of _you_ ," she smiled brightly, despite the fact that they were in a cemetery. "He had a sweet spot for you, I know it."

"Not anymore," Clary laughed, but it died off quickly. It was like having salt poured on an open wound. Céline shook her head again, "silly girl," she said. "He's spent everyday of the last five years missing you, whether he knows it or not. He's different now, this life he has-it's changed him, he isn't the Jace you remember. He's colder, closed off from everyone, even me," Céline looked down at her hands that held Clary's sadly. "I didn't know what was different the last time I saw him, but I do now."

Before Clary could even get out the words to form the so many questions she had, Céline was saying goodbye, letting go of Clary's hands. Her golden hair was the only thing visible from where Clary stood, next to a gravestone. What did Céline mean, that he missed her? If he had missed her, wouldn't he have called her? Soft spot? Was hat supposed to mean that he had liked her? Even if he had, it didn't matter now; she was the ugly duckling compared to all the beautiful girls he could have if he wanted. All the girls who would worship the ground he walked on.

Clary kicked at he grass, and a few rocks went flying into the air, hitting the gravestone next to her. She squatted down, to read the name on it. _Imogen Herondale, Mother, Grandmother._

* * *

Isabelle and Simon had found her sitting in front of Imogen's gravestone who knows how many hours later, worried and tired. They had been looking around the large cemetery all day for her. It touched her on some level, but that level didn't connect with her brain, which was numb, but so active at the same time, asking her questions she didn't have he answers to. On the taxi ride back to the apartment Isabelle and Simon had tried to spark up a conversation, but it fell flat, Clary giving one word responses, not wanting to derail her train of thought that was working not-so-meticulously to try and give her answers to all the questions she had.

"I'm going to bed," Clary said as soon as they were inside the apartment.

"Alright," answered a worried Isabelle, glancing at Simon, who shrugged. "Maybe she's possessed?" He suggested. "I am not possessed, just tired," Clary said, re-animating a little as she walked down the hall. She wouldn't get any sleep tonight, she knew. Not with her mind racing like it was.

Clary was right. She laid in a tangle of blankets and pillows, covering her head with a pillow, as if it would silence the voice in her head that kept asking questions. Questions she would probably never get answers to. Finally, when the first crack of sunlight poured through her window, she hopped out of bed, her blankets tumbling to the floor as she did so. Her head was full of ideas and questions, what better way to get out her confusion than to draw about it?

It felt calming to hold a pencil in one hand, and have her sketch pad balanced on her knee, as she sat on the small windowsill. Her hand started out shaky, as she began to draw, but it soon steadied itself, and she was drawing without even thinking about it. Apparently, though, her mind didn't comprehend the idea of calming, nor relaxing, because when she looked down, she saw herself. And Jace. It was the same photo that he had tweeted over a month ago-the one on their first day of high school. Slamming the cover of her sketch pad shut, Clary stood up, expecting her mind to be bombarded by questions, but instead, there were few. Among them, was the question as to why Jace had been at the park a month ago. Had he been waiting there for her?

Maybe drawing had helped her vent her frustration and confusion, even if it was through drawing Jace. It seemed that ever since she'd moved to LA, everything revolved around the golden haired Rockstar.

But not everything had to be about him, Clary decided, leaving her room. If she expected the wonderful aroma of coffee to fill her nose, she was gravely disappointed, because no one was even awake at what Clary considered to be an truly, un-Godly hour. She huffed a breath, and returned to her bedroom, plopping down onto her messy bed, deliberating between her options. Option one, shower. Option two, sketch some more. Option three, try to sleep some more. Just as Clary began to rule out some of the options-them being one and two, and three-her phone began to buzz against her floor, where it must have fallen while she slept. It was a true wonder how that thing wasn't broken yet. It took so much abuse.

She scrambled to grab it, sliding her finger across the screen to answer it. "Hello?" She asked.

"I can't believe you're awake," said Sebastian's voice. It made her smile to know he was calling her, even if it was so early. "I couldn't sleep," Clary waved away the topic. "Now, tell me, why are you up so early?"

"Final rehearsal before our show at the Staples Centre tonight," Sebastian replied, and she could hear the soft strumming of a guitar in the background. "Then, it's more, and more, and more rehearsals until the tour."

"When is that, anyways?" Clary asked, running a hand through her hair. She was sure her mom would refer to it as a rat's nest, if she had seen it. "It starts in a few months, in Europe. Why? Want to join me in the endless torture that is putting up with a certain 'heartthrob'?" Sebastian asked, although she could tell it was a joke. "Would _you_ , given the option?" Was Clary's reply, instead of her initial "hell no!"

"I don't think so," Sebastian said. "But what are you doing around nine-thirty?" He sounded like he was chewing something, something crunchy like chips. "Nothing," Clary said. "And are you eating chips at-" she checked the time on her phone, pulling the device away from her ear momentarily. "six-twenty-two in the morning?"

"Caught me," Sebastian said, although it sounded like he was talking around a mouthful of chips. "Jesus, Sebastian, no wonder you're always hungry," she teased. "The only thing you eat is junk."

"That's a lie-" Sebastian started, when someone else's voice could be heard. One Clary had longed to hear for five years. "Seb, who are you talking to this early in the morning?" Jace groaned. "No one, go get dressed, damn it-you're going to be late for your own rehearsal." Sebastian reprimanded.

"Uh," Clary said awkwardly. Did they live together? Surely not-Jace was rich. "Is that Jace?"

"Yeah," Sebastian replied. "For some reason, he has a key to my apartment," it reminded her of the way Isabelle had some how gotten a hold of a key to her apartment, back in New York. Having Isabelle walk into the bathroom-thinking no one was in it-while you're showering, is scary enough on it's own. But, of course, she had to be wearing all black that day. It was probably the loudest Clary had screamed in her life.

"That's sounds fun," Clary said sarcastically. "Can't imagine if he had a key to my apartment. Isabelle would probably kill him."

"I could see that," Sebastian said, and there was noise in the background, something she couldn't identify. Then, a loud smashing noise. "What did he break?" Clary asked knowingly. Sebastian groaned. "Hopefully his face," causing a bout of laughter from Clary. She couldn't even count how many times she'd hoped he'd break his perfect face. "Shut up," came from a grouchy-sounding Jace.

"Who are you talking to, anyways?" Jace asked after a moment of silence on both ends of the call. "A friend," Sebastian replied vaguely.

"A girlfriend?" Jace asked, and Clary could just picture his perfectly arched, golden eyebrow. There was no response from Sebastian. "It's the only reason I can imagine you getting out of bed this early in the morning-let alone talking to anyone," Jace continued. Even Clary stayed silent. "I don't have a girlfriend," Sebastian said, although it sounded like he was trying not to scream at Jace.

"Then who _are_ you talking to?" Jace asked, disbelieving.

"It doesn't matter, Jace," Sebastian said.

"If it doesn't matter, put it on speaker," Jace taunted.

It sounded like Sebastian had tapped the screen, and she assumed she was on speaker phone, or had just been hung up on. "As much as I'm enjoying hearing you argue with the Ken doll, I could be dumping water over Isabelle and Simon's head's," Clary informed Sebastian, although she had a feeling it wasn't _just_ Sebastian she was informing.

"Clary?"

All it took was him saying her name for Clary to want to hang up on Sebastian. It felt so...awkward, not just that, weird, too. She cleared her throat. "Don't you two have rehearsal to get to?" She asked, not wanting Sebastian to think she didn't want to talk to hm, even though that's probably how it came off. "Yes," Sebastian said at the same time that Jace said, "it can wait."

"I'll meet you at the coffee shop, alright Sebastian?" Clary asked, not feeling in the mod to bicker with Jace. "See you soon," he replied Clary ended the call before she could hear Jace's protests.

* * *

Deciding she'd rather _not_ die today, Clary had gotten dressed, and headed to the park behind the apartment, which was, if you didn't count going through the rather thick wall of trees, a five minute walk. She couldn't even imagine the creative path of revenge Isabelle would take if she had dumped water over her head while she was sleeping. Probably something at the Halloween party.

Why Clary was headed to the small park, of all places in LA, she had no idea. If it was one place she was destined to run into Jace, she was setting herself up for bad things. Well, him-she still hadn't had her coffee.

She chose to sit on the rusty swing set, using her feet to move her back and forth a little bit. The swing creaked, and groaned under her slight weight, as she moved. She absent mindedly wondered about the Halloween party, maybe it would be fun, after all. Isabelle had been working hard on planning the whole thing, making calls left and right. She'd even somehow managed to rent out the giant mansion by the cemetery that was supposedly haunted. Though, she honestly doubted it.

"I'm starting to think you _want_ to see me," said a voice from behind her. It wasn't anyone, no, it was the Rockstar himself. She pivoted her head to look at him. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans. "How did you even find this park when you're so busy being famous?" Clary questioned, ignoring his previous statement.

"Well, it wasn't hard, considering it's right behind my apartment building." Had that been how he'd so easily put those notes on her window? It seemed no matter how expansive LA was, she just couldn't get away from her golden-haired ghost. She didn't feel much like talking anymore, so she turned her head back to look ahead of her. She heard the swing beside her creak and groan, she assumed it was Jace, sitting down. The groan when he moved was much louder than when she did, most likely because he weighed quite a bit more than she did.

Quiet fell over them, like a heavy rain cloud, just waiting for the down pour to start. In this case, though, the rain wouldn't be water. "I saw your Mom yesterday," Clary said, trying to fill the silence. She could feel Jace's eyes on her, but she refused to look back at him. She wouldn't risk it, not when those were the eyes that had melted so many girls' hearts into a pile of sadness because he wasn't theirs. Not when she had felt that way only five years ago.

"She was at the cemetery," Clary continued. "Visiting your Grandmother's grave." It was a rather depressing subject, but for her, it was just words to fill the silence. "She told me something..." Clary trailed off, almost positive that Jace wouldn't care. "Do I want to know?" Jace asked.

She turned to look at him, staring into his aureate eyes, admiring the odd shade of old that they had. "I don't think you wanted me to know," Clary said, keeping her response vague. "Not then, anyways."

"She told you why we left?" He inquired, followed by a nod from Clary.

"That's not all she told me, Jace," Clary said quietly. She had long since looked away from Jace's eyes, but now his gaze was burning a hole into the side of her head. "Are you going to tell me?" Jace asked impatiently. Clary looked up at him, the corner's of her mouth quirking up at his impatient look. "I think I'll keep this to myself," she said, pushing against the sand with her feet, and letting go, her swing going back and forth softly. And suddenly, she was at a stand still, her swing not moving, and she was being pulled to the right. She frowned up at Jace. "Tell me," he said firmly. Most people would have told him on the spot, his gaze was so intense. But not Clary, she was immune to such things.

Clary jumped off her swing, getting some sand on her shoes. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, cupping her elbows in her palms. "Why should I?" She asked challengingly. "You didn't bother to tell me you were leaving, no goodbye, nothing." Jace was standing now, too, towering over her-which wasn't difficult to do, since she had stopped growing some time in grade ten.

"Clarissa," he said, his voice low, which she knew meant he was barely holding onto his temper. It gave her a sense of satisfaction, knowing she could push his buttons so easily. "Jonathan," she said in a mocking tone, meeting his stare head on. "Why do you have to be so frustratingly stubborn?" Jace demanded.

"Why do you have to be such a big-headed, indignant, Rockstar?" Clary countered. They were standing apart, but it felt too close for Clary, but she didn't move. No way would she let Jace think he made her uncomfortable. "Why do you hate me?!" He finally shouted. Clary looked at him disbelief written across her face. "You really just asked me that?"

"I don't get it, Clary!" He shouted.

"You know what I don't get?!" Clary shouted back, "I don't _get_ why you couldn't just tell me you were leaving! I don't _get_ why you didn't say goodbye! I don't _get_ why you didn't once try to contact me in those five years you were gone!"

He let out a loud, frustrated noise-something between a grunt and a groan-running his hands through his golden locks. " I couldn't! I just couldn't!" He shouted in response. "Why?!" Clary yelled. "I was your best friend, don't you think I deserved more than a damn kiss?!"

It only took Jace a few strides to reach her. They were staring at each other, and suddenly, his lips were on hers, moving fluidly like they'd been doing this for years-which they _so_ hadn't. Jace was holding her close, one hand on the small of her back, sending small electric shocks all through her, the other hand on her waist. Clary had laced her hands around his neck, wounding her fingers into his soft curls. She would have had to stand on her tip toes, had Jace not been leaning down. He pulled away for a moment, "so much more," he murmured against her lips.

* * *

 **Oh, a Clace kiss?**

 **Don't start to expect things of me, because just when you think Clace is going to have their happy ending, poof! I tricked you!**

 **But I'm really hoping you all liked this chapter, because I really enjoyed writing it. Especially the part with Céline.**

 **Can we get to 150 reviews?**

 **Also, I apologize to anyone who wanted to see those pictures last chapter, and anyone who I PMed that didn't get the link, because this website doesn't want to cooperate with me.**

 **If you want to see the pictures, just PM me, and I'll tell you what to Google. Sounds stupid, I know, but if you really want to see them...**

 **Anyways, I'm going to go, maybe start writing the next chapter?**

 **:))**


	13. All-Nighter

After what seemed like hours-but Clary guessed it had only been about ten minutes, give or take-Jace pulled away from her, both of them breathing heavily, her cheeks quickly catching fire. Had she really just done that? Had she really kissed Jace? Had she really just _lived_ her childhood daydreams, her adult nightmare?

Jace was looking at his phone, frowning. _Good_ , Clary thought, _he_ _has_ _a_ _distraction_. "Ten already," he frowned more, if that was possible. Just then, the reality of time sunk in, "I've got to go," Clary blurted, her eyes wide. Jace looked up at her curiously. "Another excuse to get away from me?" He asked, and if Clary had heard right, he sounded...disappointed. Clary shook her head, the flaming in her cheeks dulling slightly, but not enough. "I have to meet Sebastian," she said and began walking away.

* * *

She rushed to the coffee shop, pulling open the door, narrowly avoiding getting hit in the forehead by it, and going inside. The smell of fresh baked goods and coffee filling her nose, momentarily distracting her. She quickly resumed her course of action, marching to the back, to a small table where she and Sebastian usually met. For once, it seemed she was having some good luck, because Sebastian wasn't sitting at the table, waiting for her, wondering if she'd ditched him. Clary took a seat, absent mindedly tapping her fingers on the table. When she looked back up, Sebastian was sitting across from her, watching her worriedly.

"Oh," she said stupidly, shaking her head a little, clearing the fog that had settled over her brain while she was off in La-La Land. "Hi, Seb," she gave an awkward wave, offering a small smile that probably came out more like a grimace. "Clary, are you alright?"

She nodded, "yeah, of course." Translation: No! Small alarm bells had begun ringing in her head, telling her she'd made a mistake kissing Jace. Even if she had meant to kiss him, they wouldn't...turn into anything, he was a player, and a Rockstar. He had girls willing to kiss the grounds that he walked upon, no way he'd _actually_ want her-if she wanted him, that was. Which she totally didn't, it was a mistake not to push him back. "Clary?" Sebastian waved a hand n front of her face, she noticed that his fingers were callused, she guessed from playing the guitar so much. "You didn't hear a thing I just said, did you?" He asked, relaxing back into his chair, arms folded over his chest, a smirk playing at his lips.

She wanted to tell him that she had been listening, but she couldn't, because he'd no doubt ask her _what_ he'd said. "No," she said simply. She couldn't give an explanation as to why. He let out a low chuckle, standing up. "You want anything?" He asked, drumming his fingers on the table, waiting for her response. "Coffee," she smiled up at him. "Black."

He nodded, going off to the counter to get their coffees. Her mind wanted to wonder off on it's own, to think more about Jace, but she wouldn't have anymore of her life taken over by the golden Rockstar. Instead, she watched Sebastian-even though she knew it probably seemed a little creepy-the barista was bending over backwards, trying to flirt with him. Batting her eyelashes like crazy, talking in a high-pitched, overly sweet-sounding voice. It was getting old quite fast, but Sebastian seemed not to be paying her any attention, opting for watching his fingers as they drummed against the counter.

She must have realized he wasn't paying attention to her, handing him the two drinks, wearing a pouty expression. Clary wanted to stick her tongue out at her, for whatever reason, as Sebastian made his way back to their table. He placed one Styrofoam cup in front of Clary, the other remaining in his grasp. "Why were you late?" Sebastian asked casually, even still, Clary felt like she was being interrogated. "Isabelle," she lied, "she can't decide between two different brands of fake cobwebs," which was totally true-she'd been kept up until nearly two a.m. helping Isabelle decide, and she still hadn't. It was extremely frustrating. "I keep telling her it doesn't matter because people will be drinking like there's no tomorrow. It's Halloween, after all."

Sebastian nodded, a small smile on his lips. "Are you going to be one of those people?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "No," Clary said. "I want to be the one to tell Isabelle and Simon all the stupid things they did whilst drinking their lives away," she grinned evilly. "Would you like to join me in this venture?" She asked reluctantly. What if he turned her down? They were just friends, after all.

"I think I would," Sebastian said, taking a long swig from his cup. He swore profoundly, and loudly, at that, making this face that made Clary want to burst out laughing. She was barely restraining herself as it was, but when she noticed two older women sitting at a table near them, scowling disapprovingly at the back of Sebastian's head, she couldn't hold back the giggles that escaped her. "Is it hot?" Clary asked through giggles. Sebastian scowled at her, causing her to giggle more.

* * *

When Clary returned to her apartment, Isabelle was still slaving over her computer screen, and multiple party-planning books, strewn around the table. "Iz," Clary said worriedly. "I think it's time for a break." When she reached out to put her hand on Isabelle's shoulder, she swiped it away, Clary was almost positive she heard a low snarling coming form Isabelle. "Clary, I can't!" She exclaimed, exasperatedly. "I have to make sure this party is perfect."

Those were the last words uttered from Isabelle all day, save for her ramblings, or her swearing at the computer, for whatever reason. Simon was off working a shift at the comic book store, leaving Clary with nothing to do. She tried drawing, and got bored about two hours after. Listening to music did nothing to ease her bored-ness. What could she do? She could go to the beach, but she didn't quite feel like swimming. Finally, Clary decided on going for a walk. She plugged her headphones into her ears, grabbing her keys, she was out the door, leaving Isabelle and her party-planning madness behind.

The cool air was refreshing, but Clary couldn't help herself when she wondered where the sun had went. It was LA, it was always supposed to be sunny, wasn't it? The trees didn't turn colours in the fall, it seemed. Just another reason LA gave her to miss New York. She'd barely been here three months, and she already wanted to go home. She wanted to see her old orange bedroom walls, feel her soft, worn mattress under her body while she slept. She wanted to smell turpentine whenever she walked inside the house, be covered in paint, be able to look around and see her mothers' paintings hung on the walls. She wanted to stay the night at Isabelle's expansive mansion, with it's white everything. To read Manga with Max, Izzy's little brother.

Clary had been so lost in her reverie, she hadn't paid attention to where she was. She found herself walking to the swings set. In the park. Behind her apartment. She very nearly started spluttering. Had she seriously subconsciously walked here?...Because she wanted to see Jace?

That was preposterous. Sure, she had made out with him this morning, but that didn't change anything...right? Surely, he didn't actually want to date her. There would always be a prettier, smarter girl waiting for him. So why would he settle for her? He wouldn't. End of story.

Clary turned around, walking through the thick wall of trees, back onto the stretch of dirt and gravel that led to the road. It was then that she decided that she wouldn't allow Jace to continue to take over her life, to consume her thoughts-awake or not. He certainly wasn't the fairy tale prince she had dreamt of so many years ago, nor was he the Jace she had often found herself daydreaming about. He was simply Jace Herondale, another famous guy that girls threw their selves at. Clary knew that she would not be one of those girls.

* * *

Somehow, Simon had managed to pull Isabelle away from her party-planning. She was passed out in her room, laying half on, half off of her bed, and the part that _was_ on the bed, was splayed out like road kill. Returning to the living room, she started to applaud Simon, clapping her hands together, not too loudly, though, for fear that she might wake Isabelle. Neither of them wanted Isabelle awake and running solely on energy drinks and or caffeine. There were enough empty energy drinks cans all over the kitchen, along with empty coffee cups. "How did you do it?" Clary asked, looking at Simon with nothing short of pure awe. She'd been trying to pry Isabelle away from her planning for days, and Simon had finally succeeded. But he shrugged. _Shrugged_. "You did not just shrug, Simon Lewis."

"I did," he said, waggling his eyebrows at Clary. She rolled her eyes, laying down on the soft couch. She was so relaxed, so tired. "So...you're not going to tell me?" Clary asked, covering her mouth s she yawned. Once again he shrugged, and Clary almost found enough energy to strangle him. Almost.

"You must've said something quite interesting to get her away from that table," Clary said, her eyelids falling shut. Simon cleared his throat, and mumbled something utterly incoherent under his breath. Clary frowned, craning her head to look at Simon. She could only really see half of his face, his forehead, a bit of his glasses, and the shaggy brown hair that desperately needed to be cut. "What was that?" Clary asked. He mumbled something incoherent again, though it was louder this time. "Say that again?" Clary asked, really trying to focus on his words.

"I told her we'd do the planning," he said, voice low and quiet, as if he thought Clary wouldn't be able to hear him. She shot up, shouting, "what?" She would surely be dead- _they_ would be dead, if they didn't finish planning the party. She was not going to be the only one to suffer through the treacherous journey of insanity that was planning an _Isabelle Lightwood_ -trademarked-party. Hell, she should just leave all the work for Simon, but then, he wouldn't get anything done, and even with the crush Isabelle had on him, she would still throttle him-or at least try to-and Clary didn't think she could handle a world without Simon in it.

"You idiot! We can't do this! She'll serve our heads on a platter at that party if we don't get this right!" Clary yelled quietly, which was proving to be a difficult task. More difficult than she'd ever thought quiet-yelling would be, because she just really wanted to scream at Simon right now. Simon held his hands up, as if he thought she would pounce, jumping from the couch, attaching to his body, clawing at his face. He needed to get his eyes checked, because he was about twenty feet away from her, almost in the kitchen, and she would never be able to cover that distance in a single jump. Instead, she'd end up breaking things, splayed out on the floor, flat like a pancake on fire.

"I know that-I just-I didn't know what else to tell her!" Simon quiet-yelled back at her. "She had that murderous look in her eyes! She needed sleep-like three years worth of sleep!" Clary couldn't argue with him there. When Isabelle and that murderous look in her eyes, it was scary, very scary. Add that to a tired Isabelle? You've got yourself about three seconds to run, before she tries to stab you with the nearest object.

"Okay, you're right," Clary nodded, running her hands through her hair. She was pacing around the living room-when did that happen?-trying to think what they needed to do. The party was the coming weekend, and Clary wasn't really sure how far Isabelle had gotten in her planning. Clary looked at the spot where Simon was supposed to be standing, right near the entrance to the kitchen, but instead she found no Simon. Until he emerged a minute later, a thick folder full of papers in one hand, Isabelle's laptop in the other. He sat down on the floor, why, Clary had no idea, since there was a very comfortable couch just a few feet away from him. "Alright," he said, cracking his knuckles, tapping away at Isabelle's laptop. Clary reluctantly sat down beside him, bouncing one leg up and down nervously. "I know Isabelle had a running list of what she needed to do, and what she had done already."

There, on the screen, was a long, long, list in bold, black font. Clary looked from it to Simon. "This is what she's done, right?" She squeaked, trying to sound hopeful, failing miserably. Simon grimaced, shaking his head, then letting it fall. "I'm afraid not."

* * *

"Is that the sun, already?" Clary asked through a barely concealed yawn. She squinted behind her, through the large front window that had been replaced not long ago. In the dark, starless sky, there could be seen a crack of yellow-orange light with a pink hue to it. No way the night had passed them by so quickly. Simon craned his neck to look, making a hissing sound at the out of place bright light. They had worked by only the light of Isabelle's computer screen all night long. Surprisingly, they had gotten through about half of the list of things that needed to be done, adding them to the list of what had been already accomplished. Thankfully, Isabelle hadn't left any _major_ details to them. There were things like, ordering cobwebs, getting themselves costumes-Simon would be a vampire, while Clary was going as a witch. Plain and simple. Except, the website had only had "sexy witch" costumes left, Clary could rest in peace knowing Isabelle would approve-ordering the food and alcohol. Believe it or not, it is harder to get alcohol in bulk. That as one long phone call that ended with a red-faced Simon slamming the phone down onto the floor.

If she wasn't so tired, she would laugh at how disheveled Simon looked, what with his glasses askew on his nose, his hair matted and standing up in every which way, eyes bloodshot and clothes crumpled. She probably looked a hundred times worse, guaranteed. Her hair had probably frizzed up, leaving a fireball on top of her head. No doubt her eyes would be bloodshot from staring at the computer screen all night, green and red. Christmas colours, she thought with faint amusement. The sleeve of her shirt was falling down her small shoulder, and she pulled it up, feeling a sort of chill go through her. "I think so," Simon replied a few minutes later, fixing his glasses as he, too, squinted out the window. They had both been so transfixed on the slowly rising sun, they hadn't seen whoever it was walking up the stairs. They would have been normally pretty hard to miss, the normally golden hair changed to the colour of embers in the orange-yellow-pink light of early morning.

He tapped on the window, scaring both Clary and Simon. Clary went skidding backwards, laying flat on her back, her shirt riding up a little to expose her belly button. She groaned as her head started to pound like a bass drum. Simon had knocked his glasses off of his face, as he had jumped up, surprised. As of now, he was crawling around like a baby, trying to find his glasses. Jace had gone from the window, presumably waiting at the door. She groaned again, as she stood up, bending over to pick up Simon's glasses, handing them to him, he took them gratefully mumbling a thank you. She tried to smooth down her no doubt frizzy hair, before reluctantly dragging her feet over to the door. She didn't want to open the door. She really didn't. What she wanted was to crawl under her covers, and never come out again. Hell, she'd even settle for just curling up on the floor and never moving again. All her limbs were stiff, she felt it especially in her neck, as she tilted it from side to side, a satisfying cracking noise sounding through the eerily silent apartment.

Past the point of caring what she looked like-even if there _was_ a world famous Rockstar just on the other side of the door-she wrapped her fingers around the metal knob, twisting and pulling until it opened to reveal Jace, in all his golden glory. He looked so perfect, even at the literal _crack of dawn_ -she wanted to slap him for it. He gave her a once over, up and down, before his eyes settled back on her. "You look...ravishing," Jace said after a moment, a small smirk playing on his lips. The left side just slightly higher than the right side. She wanted to reach out and touch it again, some strange urge possessing her to do it-if her muscles weren't stiff and sore.

Clary gave him a wry smile, her eyes drooping a little bit. How had Isabelle stayed awake that whole first night without those energy drinks? Or-wait...had she fallen asleep on top of her computer, drooling? Clary couldn't remember, but it hardly mattered. "Thanks, Herondale," she said, no matter how much she had hoped it would sound sarcastic, her heart just wasn't in it. Her _brain_ wasn't even in it, for God's sake. She was grateful for the door frame that she was leaning on, tilting her head to look up at him. "Anytime," Jace said, the smirk still playing on his annoyingly perfect, narrow lips. She admired his jawline, so sharp it could probably cut her finger tip open, if she were to touch it. "What...did...you...want?" Clary asked, rubbing at her bloodshot eyes, partly just to prove a point to Jace that she was tired, and he should get on with whatever he wanted to say, partly because her eyes were sore, too.

"What's wrong?" Jace asked, leaning close to her, close enough that she could smell whatever kind of cologne he was wearing. It was delicious. "You look like you're some sort of crack head," he observed. She couldn't exactly disagree with him there, even though she hadn't seen her reflection. Clary took a deep breath, exhaling. "Did you just come here to point out the obvious...or?" She asked, yawning into her hand.

"No, I did not," Jace said. Clary felt a sudden burst of energy. "Perhaps you could get on with it, then, before I slam the door in your face? I've been up all night, without coffee, I might add, and I would really enjoy getting some sleep before Isabelle wakes up and starts ordering Simon and I around again." Jace looked stunned, and then his face became unreadable, as he cleared his throat.

"I thought we should talk about...you know, yesterday," another surge of energy went through Clary, as she clamped her hand over Jace's mouth. "Shh," she hissed, pushing him outside, closing the door behind herself. She had since let her hand fall back to her side limply, her energy fading fast. He looked amused. Typical. "What do you want to say?" Clary asked.

"As much as it pains me to admit," Jace said, "I hadn't thought this far ahead." Slamming the door in Jace's pretty face was sounding better and better by the second. "Fantastic," Clary muttered, looking back up at Jace from where he gaze had rested on her bare feet. "You actually came to my door? Instead of my window?" She asked, slightly shocked.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I did go to your window-you weren't in your room."

"Because that's not super creepy," Clary muttered, not-so-quietly. Jace laughed, the only noise besides the soft bird song, a sharp noise in her ears. He didn't sound amused, not one bit, more like he was angry. "Face it Jace," Clary continued. "You're not some fictional character, you're a real person, and trust me-it's cuter in the books when boys do those sorts of things, in real life, it seems a little stalker-ish."

Just the way he was looking at her, it sent shivers through her that she tried desperately to hide. She couldn't keep up with his mood swings, and she was sick of trying to. "Can we talk later, or something? I'm really tired," Clary yawned again, not purposely, either. Jace nodded, his expression changing considerably. "Yeah, sure. I'll talk to you later, alright? Just get some sleep." He tuned and walked away, down the sidewalk. Clary was left to stare after him, completely and utterly stunned. He sounded so...so like _himself_. Not like some cocky, arrogant, spoiled Rockstar.

Numbly, she walked back into the house, literally; she walked face first into the metal door, hitting her nose, hard. Blood started dripping from her nose, slowly at first, then the blood was gushing like a waterfall in the spring, after all the ice and snow had just melted. She tried cupping her hands around her nose, but the blood just pooled in her hands, dripping through the cracks in her fingers, onto her shirt, and the small cement stair case in front of the apartment. It felt warm against her skin, and she wanted to gag. And then retch the contents of her stomach onto the cement stairs, as well. Not that there was anything in her stomach, from the grumbling of he stomach. Could her day get any worse? Seriously, it was probably only like just past six a.m.

She banged on the door with a bloody hand, leaving a long smear of scarlet, dripping like small rubies down the gray metal. Simon answered the door, muttering to himself about something. Then, his eyes landed on the blood dripping from Clary's cupped hands, the scarlet substance _everywhere_. "Jesus, Clary! What did you do, walk into the door?" Reluctantly, she nodded, causing more blood to spill from her cupped hands. Simon furrowed his brows, grabbing her shoulders, he said, "I'll be right back." And he was, only, he was holding a plastic bag. "Here," he held out the bag to her. "Dump the blood out of your hands, into the bag, then hold your face over it, that way the blood goes into it."

"You've got to be kidding me," Clary spluttered on the blood, sending a fine spray of it onto Simon's shirt and neck. He looked grossed out, to say the least. She had done as he said, and dumped the blood out of her hands, into the plastic bag, which was what had allowed the blood to get onto Simon. It didn't really help that as well as running down her face, making her look like Carrie, the blood was going down her throat, and she was choking on it, spluttering again. Scarlet sprayed against the white brick of the apartment. "Come on," Simon said, staying calm, even as she nearly choked to death on her own blood. She would never be able to repay him for this. Leaning over the plastic bag, watching disgustedly as it filled with her blood, she let him lead her to the bathroom.

He turned on the faucet, taking the bag from her, putting it into the shower. She could see out of her peripheral vision that it had tipped over, the blood pouring out, down the drain. Simon was getting her to lean over the sink, and she tried not to watch, as the water washed away the blood to a light pink, then nothing. When the bleeding slowed a few minutes later, she got a look at herself: bloodshot eyes, messy hair-not too frizzy, although it didn't matter now-blood dripping in a wide stream from her nose all the way down her chin, onto her neck, almost to her shirt. She huffed a breath, forgetting that her nose was bleeding, and then seeing a spray of scarlet coat the mirror.

"Clary, stop," Simon said calmly, putting a hand on her back, trying to get her to lean back over the sink. Reluctantly, she did, gripping the white porcelain of the skin, looking as far away from the blood as she could. Five minutes later, the blood had almost completely stopped flowing, but her nose was clogged-she decided it best not to try and blow it, though.

Simon had gotten a cloth, sometime, and was wiping at her face, trying to clean up the blood. It reminded her of a mother wiping ice cream from a child's face. Simon was her mother. Clary began laughing, soon hysterically, as Simon wiped away blood from her neck. Simon just shook his head, probably putting it all down to lack of sleep. He wouldn't be wrong, except for the fact that Jace had caused the nose bleed part. Not directly, but, well...whatever.

Once Simon had finished cleaning her up enough, he sighed, and said, "get in the shower, alright? Then, please, go get some sleep. You're scaring me." Clary nodded, unable to contain the small giggles that escaped her.

* * *

The shower had been so refreshing and relaxing, save for the part where her nose had started bleeding a little. Now, tucked in under her blankets, blinds blocking out the morning sun, she was surrendering to sleep. Not even Simon's loud snoring could keep her awake a minute longer.

* * *

 **Wow, okay, was not expecting that major nose bleed.**

 **So, let's resume, shall we? Clary's confused, and her brain is only half-there now a days, Isabelle is going insane with party-planning, and Simon volunteered both him and Clary to finish planning the party.**

 **Whoa, lots of stuff going on there.**

 **Tell me what you think? Leave me a review, please?**

 **Can we get to 200?**

 **I honestly can't believe how one day, the review count will be like 120 or something, and the next time I check it, it's like 146. You guys are freaking amazing.**

 **I can't guarantee updates this week, just because of school, but I'm going to try.**

 **:))**


	14. Pre-Party

Only three more days until Isabelle Halloween party extravaganza-as Simon and Clary were calling it when Isabelle wasn't in the room. School, on top of party planning was ridiculous. Mrs. Mousier had given the class a project where they had to do research on some dead artist, and then use his style of drawing or painting to create a piece of art. Clary wasn't really sure how that related to art history, but whatever. The project wasn't due for another week, thankfully.

Now that almost all of the planning was done, they had to go and decorate the abandoned house that would be Isabelle's haunted house, and the grave yard where the party would be. "So," Isabelle said, twirling a piece of silky hair around her finger, twiddling a pen with the other. "What are you going as?"

"A vampire," Simon put in immediately, pushing his glasses up. Isabelle beamed at him, even though it was such a generic costume, both of theirs were. "What about you?" Isabelle waggled her eyebrows. Clary wondered how long they would pretend they didn't like each other before finally getting together. "A witch," she said, her cheeks turning a little bit pink.

"Just a witch?" Isabelle sounded almost offended.

"No," Clary bit her lip, now that she had time to let what her costume was going to be sink in,, she really regretted her choice. But there was no going back, she'd already paid for it. "A sexy witch," she forced out. Isabelle looked ecstatic, her obsidian eyes lighting up. "Am I rubbing off on you?" She asked, shocked.

Clary shook her head quickly. "No, you're not. It's all they had left." The black-haired girl looked disappointed, but cheered up quickly. "Well, I don't see how it matters. I still get to do your hair and makeup," she mused. "You're going to be the sexiest witch that ever lived." Clary wanted to crawl under a rock and die. She could not pull off the whole "sexy witch" look, she was short, with bright red hair, and it just wouldn't work. She'd have better luck dressing up as Raggedy Anne.

"Well, that's great and all," Simon said. "Don't we have a haunted house to be decorating?"

The house was big, and old-looking. The walkway was cracked, the grass dead, crows cawing in the background. It reminded Clary of the place in a horror movie where everyone gets murdered. She shivered at the thought. "Oh," she said, surprised, when she nearly tripped over a branch that must have fallen from the dying tree by the front of the house, just off to the left. It was the kind that threw scary shadows on your window at night, the branches tapping your window in the wind. Pure horror movie material.

"Creepy," Simon said, turning in a full, slow circle, swinging his long, sort of lanky arms with him.

"It's perfect," Isabelle sighed. "Now come on," she ordered, striding smoothly through the front door. It was painted a vibrant red, once it seemed, but was now faded to an orange colour, with a long crack splintering through the middle of it. Yeah, Clary thought, I'm so going to die in here. The inside was even worse, if that was possible.

The twin staircase curved menacingly, the marble of the stairs chipped and cracked. The railing, with it's chipped, peeling black paint was rusting, the colour of dry blood. The floor, whatever it had been, scratched until it was no longer recognizable, words written among the various scratches. Help me, it said all around her, sending chills through her, a bone cold that she just couldn't shake. They all walked further into the house, silent. The kitchen was the same, words scratched into any surface that you could scratch. The drawers and cupboard doors all open, some barely hanging onto their rusted hinges.

Next was the living room, with white, dusty sheets laying over top of the furniture that was probably decades old. Isabelle hesitantly reached out, taking her hands off of Simon's arm, to pull the white sheet off of what appeared to be the couch, from it's long shape. Apparently, it could have gotten scarier. The couch looked to be from the nineteen-twenties, with the curved back, and the beautiful wood workings. Except, there was blood covering half of what had been white material, the colour long faded to a rusty orange, red where there were thick clots. Clary reached out, pulling on the white sheet covering what appeared to be a chair. Dust flew through the air like fairy dust, settling over the floor, the chair and couch. The chair had big, gray circles, a curving back, with the same gorgeous designs in the wood as the couch, but that wasn't what caught your attention-the blood did that, all dried, and clumped together disgustingly. Simon took a few steps towards a tall-ish, thick-looking piece of furniture, also covered by a white, dusty sheet. Shockingly, there was no blood on the glossy wood. It looked almost brand-new, with it's scaffold metal handles for the drawers on it. Clary let out a small gasp, as she had when she first saw the couch, at the revolver that lay there.

"What in the hell is this place, Izzy?" Simon whirled around, looking at Isabelle, always brave, confident Isabelle, who looked just as scared as Clary felt. "The owner said it had been passed through the family, since no one would buy it, they wouldn't give me more detail than that." She said, shaking her head.

"Well, it's perfect for a haunted house," Clary tried, her voice falling flat.

"Might as well check out the upstairs," Simon gestured for them to go with him, Clary didn't want to, but she didn't want to stay down there alone, either. Isabelle's heels clicked on the white and black swirled marble of the stairs, the only sound besides their breathing.

The upstairs stretched out into a long hallway, the floors up here were marble, they were chipped and cracked, much like the stairs, but there were no words scratched into the floor or walls. The first room was on their right, straight when you came up the stairs. It was an office, it looked like, with calligraphy pens scattered around the table, papers covered in smeared ink. "Alright, I think it's safe to say this room is o-" Simon started, but stopped when Clary and Isabelle both gasped sharply, staring at the part of the wall hidden by the dark bookcase.

Big, black, smeared letters in illegible cursive writing on the wall. This house was truly scary, without all the fake decorations or actors Isabelle had hired to work in the haunted house.

Moving onto the next few rooms, there was nothing out of the ordinary, just dusty, old bedrooms. The last door before the one at the very end of the hallway, was by far the worst. It was a nursery, two cribs nearly side by side, one painted white, the other stained brown. There was a form inside the white crib, Clary noticed, letting her death grip on Isabelle go, she walked over to the crib, peeling back the knitted blanket over the form. It couldn't be a baby, could it? This house was years old, no way a child would have survived on its own. Clary nearly screamed, a sharp intake of breath, stumbling backwards a little bit.

It was a doll. A very scary doll, missing one eye, curled, blonde hair, the paint on it was peeling away, showing the porcelain that the doll was made of, a pearly white in the dusty sunlight filtering in through a small window. "A doll. It's a doll," Clary assured her friends, looking back at them with wide emerald eyes.

"How do you guys feel about skipping the last room?" Isabelle asked, laughing nervously. Who knew what else they'd find in this house of horrors. "I feel like we should get out of here," Simon said, ripping the words right out from Clary's mouth. "Yeah," she agreed.

"Great, let's go," Isabelle said, turning her and Simon around, Clary latching onto Isabelle's arm in turn. They couldn't have gotten out of that house if they tried.

* * *

With one day until the party, Clary still had to talk to Jace, she knew that, but she pushed away the thought every time it popped up, telling herself she had to get her project done-even though she'd already finished it-or reasoning that she needed to help Isabelle with the party, which wasn't a complete lie. All there really was left to do was get dressed up and party. But still, she pushed away the little voice that kept subconsciously reminding her that she needed to talk to Jace, that on some level, she wanted to talk to Jace. Clary could recall all the times in the past five years, where she'd wanted nothing more than a simple conversation with him. But nothing was ever simple with Jace, even _before_ he was famous. It didn't take the awful feeling she had to figure it out.

* * *

Tonight, Clary thought. There was this feeling gnawing at her constantly, telling her something bad was going to happen. Something _really_ bad. It got even worse for some reason during her last class of the day, which, unfortunately, was with Mrs. Mousier. Her throat started t o burn, her eyes watering. She stood up, Sebastian looking at her worriedly. "Clary, are you-" she didn't hear the rest of what he said, as she ran from the classroom. "Excuse me, young lady-" Mrs. Mousier began to call after her, but she didn't hear her, the door falling shut behind her as she raced to the bathroom, bile burning her throat as she ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

She shoved open the bathroom door, hurrying to a stall, not even bothering to lock it, as she barely had time to make it to the toilet before she started retching. Hardly anything came up, other than air, as she hadn't been eating because of the sick feeling that had been gnawing at her. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to push it back from her face when she finally stopped dry heaving. It didn't last long though, and soon she was leaning back over the toilet, only a clear substance, which she assumed to be water, coming up along with air.

" _Clary, Clary, Clary_ ," said a voice, and she knew why her hair hadn't been falling in her face as she dry heaved. Isabelle was kneeling behind her, her hands wrapped around Clary's red curls, her other hand rubbing Clary's back soothingly. She wanted to ask how Isabelle had known she was in the bathroom, but she couldn't, as her body was trying to make her puke up something that wasn't there. After a few minutes, her body gave up, it seemed, and she slumped against the wall of the bathroom stall, feeling tired and nervous. Though, the gnawing feeling had mostly dissipated, which had to be a good thing. " _Clary_ ," Isabelle whispered, bringing a hand to her mouth as she started into the toilet bowl.

Clary looked over the edge of the toilet bowl, going pale, eyes widening in fear. Along with the clear substance she'd puked up, there was red. There was no way this was good. "Izzy," Clary croaked, falling into Isabelle, who wrapped her arms around Clary. "I'm scared," she whispered into Isabelle's shirt. It wasn't because she had puked up some blood, but because this only proved she had something to worry about. Tears trailed down her cheeks, warm and salty, as she worried about what was going to happen tonight that was so bad.

* * *

 **Short chapter, but it needed to happen, in order for the next chapter-the Halloween party-to come together.**

 **Sorry for the cliff-hanger there, but I just felt like this chapter needed to end there, you know what I mean?**

 **I honestly didn't like writing the last part about Clary throwing up, it was very gross to imagine...sorry.**

 **Look forward to the next chapter-it will not disappoint, I assure.**

 **Now, to go write said chapter...**

 **:))**


	15. A Party For The Ages

**Hey guys! So here is the Halloween Party chapter. Lots of things happen here, so just don't...kill me afterwards. Okay?**

* * *

"Iz, I promise, I'm fine now," Clary pleaded with her friend, who was insistent that Clary shouldn't be allowed to go to the party. "Clary, you puked blood!" Isabelle countered, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It's fine, Izzy," Simon chimed in, leaning his body weight against Clary's doorframe. "It happens-like blowing your nose too hard." Clary sighed, at least Simon was on her side. "You know how nervous she was about handing in that project," he added, an after-thought.

Isabelle shook her head. "I just don't want to have to worry about her all night," she chewed on her manicured fingernail, something she only did when she was really stressed and or worried. "You won't have to, Iz," Clary said, pushing back the covers, until they were a big ball, as per usual. She stood up, not feeling wobbly in the slightest. She felt fine, save for the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach that just wouldn't leave, but she had gotten used to that. "I feel fine, I was just nervous, like Si said."

Isabelle furrowed her brows, looking unsure. She was caving, Clary could tell. She knew that Isabelle didn't want to leave her at the apartment while they partied. "Ugh," she threw her arms into the air, letting them drop back down, a loud slapping noise resounding through the apartment. "Fine, but you are only allowed four, maybe five drinks-I don't need you puking again. Got it?"

Clary launched herself at Isabelle, embracing her tightly. "Thank you, Iz," she said into her hair.

* * *

The sun was just setting, and Isabelle had Clary running around to check things last-minute, as well as Simon. She was currently checking the DJ booth, sending Isabelle a quick text, telling her the booth was all set up and that the DJ was there. She shifted uncomfortably in her costume, again. It felt like a second skin-even more so than the dress Isabelle had forced her into the first time they went to Pandemonium. The dress was her size, but according to Isabelle, the costume was meant to be tight and push your boobs up. It got annoying fast, especially when you had to worry about them falling right out of the top of your dress every time you bent over.

There was a loud beeping noise, and the smoke machine came on-well, all five of them-and smoke began to rise up from the ground, covering the last rays of sunlight. There was little light, a good portion of it emanating from the DJ booth, which had multi-coloured lights on the front that changed patterns and brightness. People had already started arriving, some standing at the drinks table, around the smoking punch bowl filled with dry ice and plastic hands. The DJ started playing a song, although, at the moment it just sounded like a creaking door, footsteps, then a howling wolf, before the music started slowly. It sounded so familiar, Clary realized, when the first part of the song started, and she instantly recognized it. "Thriller," she muttered to herself, smiling. She could remember Jace taking her by the hands at their first Halloween dance, in grade nine, when this song came on, forcing her to dance with him, twirling her as she laughed. She remembered how happy she'd been that he'd danced with her, when so many other girls would have sold their families to have the chance to do so.

Her phone buzzed, as she tapped her heeled foot against the dead grass. She looked at the screen, squinting at the brightness against the darkness of night, listening to the last few seconds of the song, where there was cackling. There was the chattering of college students, the crowd thickening by the minutes. Isabelle Lightwood: Meet me in front of the house.

Clary went to shove her phone into her pocket, but found no purchase, remembering that her second skin had no pockets. She internally groaned, shuffling her feet against the ground, which was kind of hard to do in heels, but she did it nonetheless, taking her sweet time to meet Isabelle.

"This party is awesome!" Isabelle squealed excitedly, grabbing Clary by the hands and pulling her forward. "Yeah," Clary said, "and it only took dealing with a sleep deprived Isabelle for four days," Clary laughed. Isabelle rolled her eyes, eyeing Clary up and down, probably admiring the makeup she'd done. "You look amazing-sexy," Isabelle grinned deviously. Clary raised her eyebrows at Isabelle, "you sit on a throne of lies," she said, looking at Isabelle's zombie waitress costume. It was tight, but it looked looser than Clary's, she was jealous. "Vlah, vlah, vlah!" Simon said, holding out his cape. Isabelle giggled, a strange sight, considering she was covered in fake blood. "The actors are all prepped," he informed them.

"Perfect," Isabelle smoothed out the skirt of her dress. "Could you tell them to start it up?" She asked, batting her eyelashes at him. That girl was going to turn Simon into a puddle of...well, Simon one day. He nodded, completely entranced by Isabelle. Clary rolled her eyes, turning away from the two that claim they "don't have feelings for each other."

She was just wandering around, almost in awe at how well all of their hard work had paid off in the end. People seemed to be having a good time, and no one was hammered yet. Clary recognized the song that had started playing-Get The Party Started by Pink. It gave her nostalgia like no tomorrow. She didn't see Sebastian yet, he was supposed to be here. Clary shrugged to herself, and decided to go through the haunted house to waste time. If it was scary in the day time, without the decorations and actors, what was it going to be like with all of that stuff?

The line for the haunted house was already long, so she went to the back, and waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, she was going inside, the air smelling strongly of fake blood and smoke. The loud, ear-piercing shrill of girls could be heard from outside the haunted house, and the sound only intensified inside. She went through, the path winding in the darkness. She was barely into the kitchen, and someone tried to grab her ankle, she laughed, shaking their hand off. They hadn't cleaned off the blood, figuring it looked scarier than fake blood-because they sure had been scared the first time they came in the house.

There was a girl laying on the floor in the kitchen, blood dripping down her face as she laid there. When Clary got close, she sat up quickly, shrieking loudly, grabbing for Clary. She didn't scream, instead laughed, and kept going, while the girl laid back down. In the living room, there was a boy, half of his face looked burned, blistered, melting, it seemed. He held a gun to his head, as he kneeled on the floor near the bloody couch. The boy pulled the trigger, sound effects adding that extra bang! and fell over. A group of girls in front of Clary screamed, hurrying each other along, whispering to each other. Isabelle had really out done herself, was all Clary could think.

She made her way up the fake blood-covered stairs, holding onto the railing as to not slip in her heels. They had decided to use only a few of the rooms in the upstairs, one of them being the office, another the nursery. In the office, was a man, his hair white, and sticking up in all directions, as he cut open somebody. He was clad in a blood-spattered lab coat, goggles perched atop his head as he cackled evilly. There was a person laying on the desk, utterly still, as if he were a corpse, and just when the group of girls started to move on, the dead body shot up, grabbing one of the girls, his eyes crazed, blood oozing from his "cut open" chest.

The girls all screamed, especially the one the corpse had grabbed. He let her go, laying back down.

The next room was the nursery. Just thinking about it gave Clary chills. It was by far the scariest room in the house. There was a woman sitting in a rocking chair by the white crib, holding the porcelain doll they'd almost mistaken for a real baby, she was shushing it, as if it were a real child, rocking it. The following room was the one at the end of the hall, the one they hadn't bothered to go into the other day.

There was a large bed situated in the middle of the room, a beautifully scaffold headboard on it. That wasn't all, no; there was a woman tied to the bed, screaming, struggling against the ties, she was covered in blood. "Let me go! Let me go!" She shrieked. As Clary walked through the room, dark, the only light shining dimly down onto the girl strapped to the bed. Some light from the party below poured in through the window on the north end of the room, showing a chair, and someone slumped in it. People were walking over, curiously, when someone else jumped out from the shadows, dressed all in black, scaring almost everyone, even Clary jumped back. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, as the rest of the group went through an door attached to the bedroom. It led to an adjoining-room, a child's room Clary figured, the children were girls, and all on their knees, praying. Each one dressed in a school uniform, their hair braided. At the front of the room, was the White nun, from American Horror Story, an idea Clary had come up with herself. The nun hit the floor with something, drawing the attention of the children. She used whatever it was she was holding to point to the back of the room, where everyone else was standing-the visitors. The all stood up, almost in unison. The girls looked like zombies, covered in blood, pieces of their faces falling apart, like their flesh was ripped. Suddenly, they were being chased, through the door, and down the other side of the twin stair case, this side-thankfully-wasn't covered in fake blood, so it was much easier to run down the stairs.

Then they were outside, people laughing, girls gossiping loudly about how they thought one of the guys working in the haunted house had been checking them out. Clary rolled her eyes at them, walking back to the party, her shoes felt sticky-probably from the fake blood she had been walking in. The DJ was playing Thriller again, but Clary didn't mind. She was just kind of standing there, amongst the dancing, drinking crowd, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Maybe it was Sebastian. She turned around, hoping to see his black hair and eyes. Instead, she saw golden hair, slicked back away from his face. His face was...amazing, with the design of a skeleton on it. Clary knew who he was immediately: Tate Langdon. He even had the long, black coat, no guns, though-probably for the best.

"May I have this dance?" He questioned, holding out a hand to Clary. She titled her head to the side, a small, amused smile playing on her red lips. "I suppose," she replied, putting her hand in his. Jace pulled them into the crowd of dancing college kids, Clary stumbling along after him in her heels. Something seemed off about him, she just couldn't put her finger on it. She wasn't sure she really wanted to, either.

His hand was warm in hers, and so much bigger in contrast, swallowing up nearly her entire petite hand. Jace pulled her tightly to him, staring down intensely into her eyes. An orange strobe light passed over his face, turning his golden eyes to a deep amber colour, showing the devilish twinkle they held. She knew instantly, something was wrong with him. She didn't know how she knew it, it was just another imposing gut feeling she had, tangling her stomach even more into knots. Before Jace could put his mouth any closer to hers, which she'd come to notice his were very close to hers- So close she could feel his every breath fanning out across her face, blowing back small pieces of her fiery hair. Clary couldn't help but notice his delicious smell-whatever that cologne was, she prayed he never stopped wearing it-stop it, Clary told herself firmly, using his hand to spin away from him. As far as she could.

She didn't stay away from him very long, as he pulled her back to him, as if it were a natural reflex. Before Clary's mind could process what was happening, his lips were on hers, pressing desperately against her, a way he never had. And then, she could taste it on his lips. Taste the strong alcohol, whatever it had been that he'd ingested. She knew what was wrong with him-why he was off-he was drunk.

Clary pushed Jace away from her with every ounce of strength she could muster, seeing as he was twice her size, and much stronger. He stumbled backwards, into a group of girls who gave him dirty looks at first, but as they looked at him a little longer, they turned into appreciative, flirty glances, with little giggles. Jace looked angry that she'd pushed him away, but she knew he wasn't himself right then.

"You're drunk," Clary said accusatorily, breathlessly. Jace smirked lazily at her, like she was his easy-target pray, and he was the predator that she should be scared of. "Maybe I am," he said. "I thought you liked kissing me, Clary? You do, don't you?"

Clary shook her head. "Not like this Jace," she replied curtly. What else could she say? She would never admit to the hurt feeling that filled her, knowing that he was drunk. She didn't know why it hurt her, but it did. "What's wrong, Clary?" He asked, taking a step closer to her. He didn't sound concerned, or like he even cared at all, more so like he knew he was scaring her. She liked drunk Jace about as much as she liked being trapped in a room full of murderers.

"You don't care," she spat, backing away from him. He just continued to step closer, the devilish gleam in his eyes never fading. "Oh, but I do, Clarissa. That's where you are wrong."

Clary was silent, unsure what to say to this version of Jace. With regular Jace, she could plot what she was going to say, guess his next moves by the little things he did that reminded her of the person she had once known. But this Jace-drunk Jace-she had no experience with. "I've know you for ten years, and-" at this point, he was beginning to slur his words. "But I realized something-something that I forgot until I saw you again in September."

"What was that, Jace?" Clary asked. She wondered if it was bad that she was allowing him to go on-just to hear what his answer would be, maybe a truth sober-Jace would never give her, or maybe just some wild, made up lie-when she should be taking him away from the party, somewhere he could lay down and get some rest.

"I was never happy, never satisfied with any of my girlfriends, no matter how gorgeous and famous. I know why, Clary. It's because of you," Jace was a little wobbly on his feet, as Clary was stunned into silence: what had she done? "It's because I fell in love with you."

Clary had thought she'd been stunned by his previous statement, if that was the case, what did you call what she was feeling now? Total, utter shock? That sounded about right. She was watching Jace, almost afraid to hear what he would say next-what he might do next. Then, something happened; he seemed to sober up immediately, realizing what he'd just said. His golden eyes wide, any trace of the predator he'd just appeared as, gone. He looked...vulnerable. That was one way Clary never thought she'd be describing Jace.

She took a deep breath: he wasn't sober, he wasn't himself. She couldn't hold what he'd just said against him, she had to do the mature thing, and take him somewhere to get some sleep. Clary shook her head at Jace, laughing lightly, even though what she felt on the inside was the complete opposite. "Come on, Jace, you're drunk." She wasn't sure what to do, but then, she had an idea.

* * *

Jace's apartment building was huge, to say the least. How she hadn't seen it yet, was beyond her. The reception desk was large, with a long countertop, it reminded her of Isabelle's inky hair, the way it was sleek and black. There were small tables to match, placed around the lobby, each one with a gorgeous centrepiece with orchids, and lilies, held by a crystal-looking vase with intricate designs. She didn't doubt that the flowers cost more than all of her belongings put together.

Clary dragged Jace along to the reception desk, at this point, he looked tired, his body sagging a little as he drug his feet across the red, runner carpet through the lobby that covered what appeared to be marble flooring. The man behind the desk looked snooty, with his dark hair gelled back, and his red jacket with golden epaulets. He looked up at her, seemingly disgusted by what he saw. That's when she remembered: she was wearing an extremely short, tight, black dress, with a pointy hat, not to mention, she was practically carrying Jace. "Top floor," he said flatly. It seemed as though he was used to saying it. Like this happened all the time.

Clary thanked him quickly, Jace's full weight nearly on her. She pushed the elevator button eagerly, feeling fidgety for some reason. Could it be because she was going to be inside Jace's apartment-with only Jace?

The doors opened, and Clary drug the sleepy Rockstar inside, leaning him against the shiny metal wall of the elevator. Everything in his apartment building looked brand-new. Like whenever something got too old, or too dirty, they just replaced it, not wanting to deal with the mess.

The ride to the top floor was long, almost treacherous, with her stomach tied as tightly as it was. Finally, the doors opened onto Jace's floor, and she realized, stepping out of the tin box, that there were other people living on this floor-not just Jace. There were so many doors, she didn't know which was Jace's, let alone if he had the key.

"Jace," she elbowed him in the side, as he leaned against her lithe form, "what door?"

"Last one," he mumbled, along with a string of other phrases, all of which were incoherent. He dug around in his pocket, handing her a key, his hand swaying slightly. She took his direction, and went all the way down the end of the hall, until there was only one door left, all by its lonesome. She jammed the key into the lock, jiggling and twisting until she heard the somewhat relieving click of the lock, and pushed open the door.

His apartment was immaculately clean. It made Clary want to mess everything up, just to get under Jace's skin. She knew it would, just by seeing how precisely everything was arranged: the remotes on the coffee table all straight, side by side, the couch not even a degree out of place, not a speck of dust insight. She didn't think she'd find any, if she tried to. But now was certainly not the time to be plotting different ways to bring chaos and disorderliness into his apartment, just to see him have a heart attack. She needed to find his bedroom.

There was a hallway, branching off from what she assumed to be the living room, she could see doors lining the hallway, and decided that it would be the best place to start.

So, one by one, Clary checked the rooms, trying to find Jace's. No matter how much she wished there was a big, neon sign on his door, proclaiming it as his bedroom, she knew that that was wishful thinking, and she better keep going, because Jace was getting heavy. No, scratch that, not getting heavy, was heavy.

Finally, around the middle of the long, never-ending hallway, when Clary opened the door, she found that it was different from what she guessed to be all of his spare bedrooms. This one, had a beaten-up guitar sitting on a stand. She didn't know for sure it was his room, but she could only guess, and it was good enough for tonight. It seemed like he lived alone, anyways.

Stumbling in her heels, over to the bed, Clary threw him onto it. She was pretty sure he was sleeping already. She rolled her eyes, swinging his legs up the rest of the way onto the bed, slipping off his shoes, and setting them down on the floor by his tall dresser, and pulling a blanket folded neatly at the end of the bed over him, she quietly left the room, closing the door behind her. Her heels were absolutely killing her feet-no, more like bloody murder. Because killing wasn't gruesome enough to describe the way her feet were screaming at her to kick off the damn things already.

She wandered her way back to the kitchen, sinking down tiredly onto the high bench he had instead of barstools. Kicking off the killing heels, her feet practically sighing in relief, she eyed what she thought to be a coffee machine, pondering over all the red buttons on it. She had no clue how to work it, and no matter how much she wanted coffee, she wasn't willing to risk turning it into the Terminator by pressing the wrong button.

Clary let out a lengthy sigh, listening to her heels click against his floors, as she walked. She could hardly keep her eyes open, as it was, and his couch looked awfully comfortable...the leather shiny, and clean, the cushions looking plush and plump-perfect for curling up next to.

It didn't take Clary long to convince herself it would be fine to sleep a while on his couch, as long as she was gone before he woke up. If she wasn't, who knew what kinds of questions he'd start to ask her.

She was curled into the plush, inviting cushions in record time, ditching her pointy hat, wanting nothing more than to peel off the restricting dress, even though she wouldn't let herself-not with Jace just down the hall. Even earing the tight dress, Clary's eyes had fallen shut within minutes, if not, seconds.

* * *

Clary twisted her body, feeling the tight material of her costume getting even tighter around her small frame. Frustrated, Clary sat up on the couch, righting the fabric of her dress so that it wasn't turned halfway the wrong way around her body. She flopped back down, flat on her back, staring up at the spotless ceiling.

She, again, felt the need for caffeine. Not only that, she felt weird sleeping on Jace's couch, suddenly. She swung her legs over the edge of the couch, standing up and feeling the coolness of the floor on her feet. She walked to the kitchen, stopping only once she was standing in front of the coffee machine, staring at it's mass of buttons. Which ones did what? she wondered. She was tempted to try them, but then thought better of it, deciding it was better _not_ to poke the evil-looking machine. Instead, Clary went back into the living room, the large window overlooking LA catching her eye. All she could think, though, was how much prettier the sight below would be if they were in New York.

The sun was just on the horizon, shedding orange-pink light onto the tall buildings and early-morning traffic of LA. Halloween was officially over, and it was November. She was expecting snow, but knew that she shouldn't, because LA just wasn't the city for snow. If she wanted snow, she could move to Canada. She could remember cursing the snow and cold weather, but now, she couldn't help wishing for snow, wanting a change from the constant sunshine and occasional rain.

Clary was entranced by the sight below her, watching people stumbling out of bars, hearing the faint honking from frustrated drivers, the glare off of the tall, glass buildings, nearly blinding her, but she didn't stop looking at them. She could hear the shuffling of feet, and a few groans. Jace must be up, she thought. She twisted her body, trying to get a glimpse of the shockingly heavy boy she'd drug home last night. "Hm," she mumbled, staring at the sight that was Jace in the morning-probably with a massive hangover-his hair rumpled and mussed from sleep, golden strands sticking up in random spots, light catching them, making him appear to have a halo of gold around his head. He must have stripped off his shirt in the night sometime, because he'd certainly been wearing a shirt when she'd thrown him onto his bed last night. Not to mention all the black makeup he'd been wearing. It was smeared all over his face, the delicate lines that had formed the skeleton design gone. She wouldn't be surprised to find that his pillow was covered in black.

"Morning, sunshine," Clary mocked, thanking herself for not drinking more than half a cup of alcohol last night. Jace jumped, looking around frantically. His eyes rested on Clary after a moment, his hand pressed firmly to his chest, right over his heart. "Clary?" He squinted at her, probably having a hard time seeing her with the bright light directly behind her. "No," Clary said sarcastically. "What gave it away? The bright red hair, or the tight dress?" She deadpanned.

"What are you doing here?" He groaned, again shuffling his feet, this time in the direction of the kitchen. Clary followed him, hopping up onto the bench, watching him interestedly. He pulled a mug out of a cupboard, placing it underneath of the evil-looking machine, expertly pressing buttons until it made a noise and coffee started pouring out. She glared at his back enviously-if anyone needed caffeine, it was her.

"You don't remember?" Clary asked, feigning hurt.

"No, Clary, I don't," Jace replied, keeping his back to her. If Clary remembered correctly, Jace had always been a pessimist, and if Clary tried to imagine the worse thing that could have happened-she shook her head furiously, trying to shake out the thought. No way-no way. She had not slept with Jace, and that's probably what he thought.

"You seriously don't remember me dragging your sorry butt home last night?" Clary inquired, brushing back a piece of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. "Can't say I do," came Jace's reply. Clary let out a breath, "Wow, it was pretty memorable for me-considering I had to drag you through LA, until I found your apartment building."

Jace finally turned around to face her, his face unreadable, frustrating Clary. Did he even remember trying to make-out with her? What about when he said he'd fallen in love with her? That was pretty hard to forget. He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but her eyes. "So, why are you here again?"

Clary looked at him, eyes wide, tempted to drop her mouth open, just for effect. "I fell asleep on your couch," she shrugged, instead. "It was nearly three in the morning by the time I got you up here," Clary informed him. It wasn't exactly true, but it wasn't a total lie, either; it had to have been around that time, because she'd been at the party a good four hours, from eleven o'clock, double-checking things before people started showing up.

He didn't say anything in reply, which for some reason, irked Clary. She subconsciously began to drum her fingers on the table, a habit she seemed to be picking up from Sebastian. "How drunk was I?" Jace blurted, his eyes trained on the window, like she noticed earlier: anywhere but her.

Clary couldn't help but let out a small giggle, his eyes flickering to her for a moment. "Very," she answered him. _Understatement of the century_ , Clary thought to herself. "How much is 'very'?" Jace pressed. She shook her head, _should_ she tell him what he had been like? It hadn't been nice. "Clary, tell me," Jace insisted. In defiance, Clary pursed her lips, shaking her head. He was standing opposite her, his body pressed flush against the counter as he grabbed her hands, that were still drumming on the counter top. "Clarissa," he growled. By now, she ought to be used to his angry outbursts, his demanding things-but she wasn't, not by a long shot. Clary tried to jerk her hands free from his grasp, to no avail. "Do you honestly you're going to get anywhere, acting like a spoilt Rockstar with me?" Clary challenged.

His grip only tightened around her small wrists, "tell me," he growled again.

 _Fine_ , Clary thought, _but you won't like what I tell you_. "You accused me of being the source of your un-happiness in relationships," she smiled mockingly at him. He looked taken aback slightly. "What does that mean?" He asked, is voice no longer a growl, but laced with confusion.

"It means," Clary began. "That you admitted your undying love for me."

"Seriously, Clary," Jace said.

Hurt flooded her: he didn't believe her, because he would never say anything so absurd, she realized. He didn't love her, drunk Jace was just that: drunk. Nothing he'd said to her was true. She knew that Jace wouldn't-didn't-want her. Why hadn't she just stayed away from him?

"You're right," Clary said suddenly, looking up at him with wide, dreary eyes. "No one would ever love me." With Jace's momentary distraction, she pulled her hands free from his strong grasp, picking up her heels, which she had left beside the bench last night. Jace hadn't snapped out of his shock-induced moment of stillness, and she didn't want to be here when he did snap out of it. Deciding the elevator just wasn't fast enough, she took the stairs, pushing through a door at the other side of his kitchen that read "service stairs."

By the time Clary reached the lobby, she hastily slipped on her heels, her vision blurry with unshed tears. She couldn't leave his swanky apartment building fast enough.

* * *

 **So there is the chapter. What did you all think?**

 **I hope it didn't disappoint, and I'm very sorry for all the pain I'm causing you.**

 **Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be working on the next gut-wrenchingly painful chapter.**

 **:))**


	16. Like It Or Not

Clary couldn't see a foot in front of her, not with the tears clouding her vision, LA a colourful blur in front of her. She kept stumbling in her heels, wishing they would just...snap, or something, so she had an excuse to rip them off and throw them into on coming traffic. Of course, if Isabelle ever found out that Clary had thrown a pair of ridiculously high-priced heels into on-coming traffic, _and_ broken them, bad things would happen, very bad things.

Suddenly, she stopped trying to walk-run away from Jace's apartment building. What was the point of her crying? No one was going to come after her, no one would feel for her. Sniffling, Clary used the backs of her hands to wipe at her tear-stained cheeks, tasting the salt, feeling the subtle stickiness they left. Seeing the world around her clearly now, and not just as a blur of colours and motion, she realized how out of place she looked. Everyone was dressed in uniform shorts and tees, some dressier than others, in formal-looking clothing. There _she_ was, though, wearing an unnaturally tight dress, and heels so high, someone on stilts would be jealous. Self-consciously, she wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to hide herself from the public, it seemed. It was only November first, shouldn't people _expect_ to still see Halloween costumes around?

Clary jerked reflexively away from the hand on her arm, feeling the miniscule-but some how overpowering-electric shocks that went through her. She tried to pull free, wanting to hide her tears that felt almost shameful now. Somehow, she was wrapped up in his golden arms, pulled flush against is hard chest. "How could you say something so unbelievably stupid?" He whispered, she could feel him looking at her, but she just couldn't bring herself to return the stare.

In the end she didn't even have the choice, because Jace had moved her head purposefully, holding her in a way that made sure she _couldn't_ look away. "It's not hard," Clary responded weakly, her voice barely audible. She knew she had the power now, that she could decide to walk away forever, be the first girl ever to break the unattainable, burn-bright Rockstar's heart.

His face was inching closer to Clary's, and she was still too shocked to do anything. All at once, his lips were on hers, and Clary felt her heart jump, her eyes flickering shut.

She had made her choice, all Clary could do was pray it had been the right one.

* * *

 _Hot New Couple Alert!_

 _Gossip City; November 22nd 2015_

 _If you haven't heard about the hot new couple that is Jace Herondale and Vicki Bowmen, you have certainly missed out on the buzz that was last night and this morning. Rumours had started circulating early this month, but most people trashed them, saying our favourite heartthrob was keep it on the DL with Kaelie Whitewillow. Yeah, right! We all know it isn't our Golden Boy if he's pining after someone._

 _The pairing was made official at the premiere of Coffins Keep Secrets last night, when the two were photographed sharing some major PDA!_

 _Though, it leaves us to wonder: will this relationship last? If Jace's last relationship taught us anything, it's that he does not do commitment, only juicy flings that send rumours flying around the world of gossip like a tornado gone rogue. So I suppose this leaves us to wonder how long before the inevitable breakup of Vicki Bowmen and Jace Herondale._

Clary skimmed over the article, not bothering with the rest of it. She already knew she had made the biggest mistake of her young life. There was no need to rub salt in the wound. Painful as it were, though, she didn't cry, not a one tear made its way down Clary's face that day. Nor the next, or the next.

Christmas break was in less than two weeks away and she couldn't bear to be in LA anymore.

"Si," Clary said, hoping she sounded innocent. "I was thinking about transferring."

"Transferring what?" Simon asked, his forehead crinkling as he frowned at his comic book.

"Me," Clary replied, anxiously picking at her cuticles as she awaited Simon's response.

"Wait, I'm confused," he put the comic book face down on the table. "Are you telling me that you want to transfer schools?" His voice had risen a few octaves, almost to a comical level. Clary fought against the smile tugging at the edges of her small mouth. She nodded, recalling the seriousness of their current conversation.

"Why?" He asked simply. All it took was one word to bring words, memories and endless sleepless nights filled with conflicting thoughts flooding back to her. She paled to an unnatural shade of white, swallowing despite the sudden dryness of her mouth. "I-uh-I'm homesick...?"

"I don't think that's entirely true," Simon stood up, pushing his chair back. It scraped against the floor, like nails on a chalkboard, she cringed at the sound, feeling the Goosebumps rise up all over her skin. "It's not," Isabelle informed him, striding into the kitchen, one hand perched gracefully on her hip, the other grasping her phone. At that moment, Clary wanted nothing more than to start bashing her head against the counter.

"What do you mean?" Simon asked, glancing between the two women, curious, no doubt.

"Mr. Herondale got a new girlfriend," Isabelle announced. Clary fought hard to push down the conflicting emotions bubbling in her chest, hating the useless organ in her chest that beat a little faster at the mention of his name. "What the hell does that have to do with Clary wanting to transfer schools?" Simon demanded, his voice cracking at the high tone he had taken on.

Boys, always the last to connect dots. "It means that not only is she homesick, but she wants to get out of LA. Run from her problems," Isabelle said, sounding just a little bit disgusted with Clary, and her cowardice.

"Clary?" Isabelle prompted, tilting her head to the side, waiting for Clary to object, to come up with some absurd reply. "It's true," Clary sighed defeated. "I just..." She trailed off, unsure of how to explain her situation to either of them. It wasn't like she had told them about kissing Jace weeks ago. It was a wonder in itself that the paparazzi hadn't gotten that one for their precious scrapbooks, Clary thought bitterly.

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?" Clary pleaded softly, any fight that had been packed behind her earlier words long gone. Because whether she liked it or not, it hurt.

* * *

Clary couldn't help the bitter outlook she had at the moment, but-whether she wanted to admit it or not, it kind of hurt getting publicly rejected by a guy, even more so when that guy was Jace Herondale, the star of almost every teenage girl's celebrity shrine, the topic on everyone's lips.

Because that was the message he was sending her. Loud and clear. He had only been playing with her, and it hurt. She could only thank herself for not handing him her heart early on. Frankly, though, why should she care? A few kisses and sincere-sounding words proved nothing. He had not confessed his undying love for her, unless you counted drunk Jace, which Clary did not.

"Hello?" Clary asked, putting her phone to her ear, trying not to sound snappish at whomever it was.

"Someone's in a bad mood," Sebastian mused. Clary sighed, knowing it was only him. They had gotten closer, but not in a romantic way, just friends, and she was okay with it. "Sorry," she said. "Why did you call?"

"Want to join me for dinner?" He asked, surprising Clary a little. Usually they had lunch together at school, but that was it. "Uh, yeah, sure," Clary said, confused slightly. "Where?"

"My apartment," he answered. "Horror movies and takeout?" Clary frowned at her feet as she walked down the beach, sand sticking in between her toes. It was something her and Jace used to do all the time. Before he moved to LA out of nowhere, that is. "Clary?" Sebastian asked, bringing her back from the oblivion of thoughts she often got lost in. "Yeah, that sounds...fun," she tried to smile, even though he couldn't see her, but failed a grimace darkening her features.

"See you soon," she heard the pep in Sebastian's voice as he hung up, leaving Clary to continue staring at the waves breaking on the shore and the sand sticking to her feet.

* * *

She had been over at Sebastian's apartment a lot, so it shouldn't have surprise him when she was pushing the door open not twenty minutes later. She launched herself onto his couch blindly, and ended up rolling off, pillows tumbling down with her. "For a guy you sure own a lot of pillows," she called to the empty space, knowing that Sebastian was in there somewhere.

No reply followed. Clary wondered to the kitchen, catching sight of the small square of paper on the island.

 _Gone to get food,_

 _don't wreck the place_

She laughed loudly at the last part. Of course he would say that, Clary thought. She could remember when he had gone out while she was there-to get food, obviously-and come back to the chaotic mess of clothes and furniture she had created. Not to mention the towers made out of DVD cases. So what if she wanted to pretend like she was Godzilla? It was a nice change from her regular dwarf size.

Clary walked leisurely back to the couch, picking up the remotes and switching the television to Wii sports. She grinned at the idea that Sebastian may or may not come back to a broken wall and or television.

In the middle of an intense Wii tennis match, Clary heard the turning of the lock, figuring it was Sebastian, she continued with her game. Not seconds later, the door opened. "Seb! Where are you?" Called the voice of someone she'd been hoping to avoid. Slowly, Clary turned to face the person. "Jace?" She squeaked.

"Clary?" He looked confusedly at her, remote in hand, unruly hair tied back. "What are you doing here? Where's Sebastian?"

"He went out," Clary shrugged, pausing her game. She pulled self-consciously on the hem of her shirt, wishing she were anywhere but there.

Jace nodded slowly. "Alright, but why are you here?"

"Why are you here?" Clary retorted, launching herself backwards onto the couch. Landing in the abyss of pillows she wasn't quite sure how Sebastian acquired, she met Jace's golden gaze head on. It was a look that had turned girls all over the world to a useless puddle of jelly in a matter of seconds, a look that had broken hearts before.

"I asked you first." He sounded like a grade-schooler.

She wrapped her hands around a circle pillow, squeezing the soft material. "Hanging out with Sebastian. What's your excuse?" Clary raised her eyebrows.

Something flashed across his face, before his expression hardened again, and it was like she had never known him any other way. "Nothing-never mind," he dismissed. Clary bit the inside of her cheek. He was manifestly hiding something, but whatever it was, it was his problem, _not_ hers. An uneasy silence settled over them, tension clouding the air.

He just stood there, as if waiting for her to leave. Clary was not leaving, not by a long shot. "You have a girlfriend," Clary blurted. She was now forced to fight the red that wanted to sear her cheeks, to flame with her complete and utter embarrassment. Jace looked at her for a long beat, before choosing to look out the window across the room, instead. "Yeah," he said. There was no, _I'm sorry, it's not true! Please believe me, I love you!_ Of course not, he was, well, himself, and he would never do that.

Neither of them had noticed Sebastian enter the apartment, so both jumped slightly when he said, "I call publicity stunt." Clary put a hand to her speeding heart, as if that would calm it at all. Jace was chuckling lightly, if she wasn't mistaken, he sounded nervous. "God, Sebastian," Clary swallowed, watching confusion swirl around like smoke in his dark eyes. "Takeout," Clary grinned at the paper bag he held in his left hand. Sebastian easily returned the grin, holding the bag out to her. Clary eagerly stole the bag from his callused grip, all but skipping to the kitchen.

She moved slowly, quietly, trying to eavesdrop on Jace and Sebastian's conversation. All she could make out was the occasional word and hushed voices. "What is she doing here?" She finally heard Jace hiss angrily. "She's my friend, Jace," Sebastian replied firmly.

Clary shook her head, why did she still care what Jace thought? She pulled open a drawer at random, another and then another until she reached inside the proper drawer, grabbing two forks. No need for plates, it was takeout.

A few minutes later, as Clary stared listlessly at a takeout container, she heard the shuffling of footsteps, and then two sets of eyes on her. She held out a square box full of spring rolls out to Sebastian, knowing they were his favourite. "Thanks," he said, his voice having picked up a strange tone. Clary furrowed her eyebrows, but refused to look up, knowing full and well that a certain someone was there, burning holes into her with his golden laser eyes.

Sebastian seated himself next to her, leaving only two open seats across from them. She pulled the lid off of a Styrofoam container, the sweet smell of chicken fried rice dancing in the air. Hungrily, Clary dove in, shoveling spoon full after spoon full into her mouth. She gulped it down, looking over at Sebastian who had this amused look on his face, then, her gaze involuntarily drifted across from her, to see Jace smirking at her. "Hey, you should be used to seeing me eat like this," Clary warned. "Both of you."

Jace leaned back in his chair, giving her this look. Feeling her cheeks start to burn, Clary turned away, directing her attention back to her food.

* * *

"What movie first?" Sebastian asked, sifting through the stack of horror movies he kept on stand by for when Clary came over. " _Annabelle_ ," Clary announced, falling back into the center of the couch.

"A movie about a doll?" Jace asked skeptically, from where he stood behind the couch, raising a fair eyebrow at her. "What is so scary about a doll?" Clary chose to ignore his question, bouncing on the heavily-stuffed couch cushion beneath her. Being her size, sitting she only took up one couch cushion, which was rather inconvenient when you had to sit in the middle of two people, _always_.

"Okay," Sebastian said, more to himself than to anyone else. He flicked off the lights, and Clary found herself doused in utter darkness until light started to emanate from the television screen. Thankfully, Sebastian wasn't so cruel as to squish her between himself and Jace, and seated himself in the arm chair to the right of the couch.

Clary looked behind her just in time to see Jace box jump the back of the couch, landing with cat-like grace beside her. Like, _right_ beside her. He was pressed closely to her side, until Clary scooted away, avoiding eye contact. It was definitely going to be a long night.

* * *

They had gotten about half way through their third horror movie- _The Blair Witch_ -when Sebastian yawned loudly. "I'm going to bed," he announced, much to Clary dismay. Would he be so...evil as to leave her alone with Jace? "Let yourselves out whenever." Apparently he was, because without another word, he stumbled tiredly up the stairs to his bedroom.

Jace cleared his throat, and Clary found her eyelids drooping shut, her body leaning to the left, to Jace. She straightened her posture, blinking rapidly, as if it could keep her eyelids from dropping a second time. Instead of doing what her body wanted her to do, Clary pushed to her feet, swaying slightly as she did so. She knew what would happen if she fell asleep on the couch: she would somehow end up laying on Jace.

She refused to do that, and give into what her body wanted. He had moved on in as little as a day, he didn't want her-he never had, she was his beaten up guitar that he knew how to play just right to get what he wanted out of it, and she had fallen for it. How many times had he "drunkenly" told a girl he loved her? Probably too many to count.

Clary checked that her keys were in her pocket before grabbing blindly in the dark for the metal knob. After a few tries, she wrapped her hand around the cool metal, pulling open the door. She felt his golden eyes on her, he was trying to get her to look at him. She would not. Clary took one step out the door, then another, another, another, until she had walked at least halfway down the hallway leading to the front door of the apartment. She let out a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding, charging forward, despite the small-no, miniscule piece of her that wanted to turn back. She was out of the building before she could make the decision.

She kept thinking as she walked, and the more she thought, the more it became clearer and clearer.

She cared about Jace Herondale, like it or not. She couldn't deny it; it wasn't just some past crush nagging at her. It was something else, some foreign feeling. She was too tired to try and figure out what exactly she was feeling...maybe, just maybe, she was scared, too.

* * *

 **Hey guys! First off, I will apologize for the lack of updates, but something was up with my writing program, and it was being weird(scratch that, it still is).**

 **So, yeah. Besides that, Halloween-week was very busy for me(especially with my Birthday being the day before). We had a Haunted House going on at school, and I had a lot of assignments due that week as well, so, yeah.**

 **But, just to make it up to you all, I have a special chapter below. And guess what? It's JACE'S POV! From Chapter 15(A Party For The Ages).**

 **I hope you all enjoy, and again, I'm sorry for the wait.**

 **Leave me a review? Pretty please?(If that's not enough, just remember it _was_ my Birthday last week, and you could leave me a review as a gift?)**

* * *

He didn't care what he was dressed as, so long as people didn't recognize him. Magnus had done a good job on his makeup, he supposed, the intricate lines danced across his skin, distracting from his abnormal golden eyes. He was a skeleton-literally, and figuratively. He felt empty, but he didn't look it, he just appeared to others as another person going to a Halloween party. Nothing out of the ordinary with that, it was Halloween, after all. "This is far from a good idea," Magnus warned him. He was numb, though, his mind too pre-occupied. "I'm known for my music and looks, Magnus, not my intelligence." He knew-oh he knew-that it was unwise of him to be going out, so many things could go wrong, so many things could happen. He could not in vision a single good thing to come from this night, save for seeing her, maybe.

Jace appraised his appearance in the mirror sitting in front of him, harsh lights shining down on his head. "And don't we all know it," Magnus muttered, leaving the room-leaving Jace alone with himself. His blonde hair was slicked back, away from his face, it was a different feeling from having his hair in it's normal, natural curls, where he could run his hand through his hair, unlike now, when he wanted to so desperately. His face was painted with black, smudged in certain places to add dimension to the skeleton he was supposed to be. All that was left to be done was slip on the black trench coat.

* * *

There were so many people, but less than he was used to. Walking through the thick crowd, was like trying to cram one more sardine into the full can. He just kept telling himself it would be worth it when he found her. Then he did, being able to spot and recognize those bright red curls anywhere, he knew it was her. His nerves started to make him jittery, shaky, and it was funny. Funny because he was a Rockstar, having performed for millions, made girls melt into puddles at his feet, with a single glance. And there he was, debating whether or not to take the final steps towards her. No, he decided, no, not yet. He needed a confidence boost. It hit him, like song lyrics often did, he had an idea, and it was sitting on the table just two paces to his right.

Jace poured himself a glass, downing it, then another, another, and another. After seven cups of alcohol, he was ready, his blood pumping loudly in his ears, the world fuzzy at its edges, a scene of bright colours. He somehow managed to find his way over to her, tapping her on the shoulder before his mind could even process what he was doing. He held his hand out to her, hoping she didn't notice how it swayed slightly. "May I have this dance?" He asked, and even he could tell his words were beginning to slur together, he only hoped she didn't notice, but with his tainted breath, there was almost no chance she wouldn't.

She had this small, amused little smile on her lips, staring at him for a moment. "I suppose," she said, her bright lips distracting him. She placed her small, delicate hand in his, and he was reminded of how fragile she appeared, and how strong she really was. His brain was running a few steps behind his body, he knew it, because he was dragging her through the crowd of drunken people-people not even half as drunk as him. He should not be dragging her through the crowd, he regretted it, but he wouldn't risk her hearing how slurred his words were, how disgustingly like alcohol his breath smelled.

He stopped, pulling her tightly to him, his mind telling him a few seconds too late hat he shouldn't have done it. He just didn't want to see her get trample by everyone else, she was so small. Her green eyes were so bright, staring back into his, like she could see right through him. Tell he was drunk, just by the most-likely stupid look on his face.

Suddenly, the impulse hit him, he wanted to kiss her. So badly it hurt. A strobe light passed over his face, blocking his vision for a few seconds, and when he could finally see in the darkness, his mouth had moved closer to his-or had hers moved closer to his? There were two of her now, and he blinked hard to get them to go away, to show him the one, true Clary. He let out a breath, blowing strands of her hair away from her face, around the rim of her witch hat. He looked down, her dress was so terribly tight...

Before he knew what was happening, she was spinning away from him, holding to his hand, though he could feel ho feathery light her touch was, like she'd rather not be touching him at all. It seemed like a reflex, when he automatically pulled her back to him, letting out a growl in the process. They were pressed tightly together, but she was becoming a blur of red and black. He had to kiss her now, before he was too drunk and ended up with another girl, instead. Now. He pressed his lips hard on hers, showing every guy that was staring that she wasn't available, that he had already claimed her-whether she knew it or not.

He felt her two hands press against his chest, and then he was stumbling backwards, bumping into a huddle of girls, who were now just blurs of colour. Their giggles echoed in his ears, he narrowed his eyes at Clary, feeling upset-angry that she'd pushed him away. "You're drunk," Clary pointed out, her own eyes narrowing. He couldn't help it when he smirked. "Maybe I am," he said, hearing for himself just how drunk he really was, tasting the alcohol on his lips. "I thought you liked kissing me, Clary? You do, don't you?"

"Not like this," she said.

"What's wrong, Clary?" He asked, taking a step towards her. He could hear his brain screaming at him: _Stop it! Stop it now!_ But he couldn't, he realized, as he regarded her like a piece of meat. "You don't care," she said sharply.

"Oh, but I do, Clarissa. That is where you are wrong," he slurred, trying not to sway on his feet.

"I've known you for ten years and-" he began, but cut off. What should he say? His brain was getting slower, and slower, until he felt like forming a thought was like trudging through muddy swamp land. His brain kept getting distracted, too, watching as a blur of sparkly gold shimmied through he crowd behind Clary. "But I realized something-something I forgot until I saw you again in September."

"What was that, Jace?" She asked, sounding hesitant, like she wasn't sure whether or not she should run.

"I was never happy, never satisfied with any of my girlfriends, no matter how gorgeous or famous. I know why, Clary. It's because of you." He said, unable to keep his footing, and he began to wobble. His brain was too distracted by the look that had come across Clary's blurry face, she looked so helplessly confused. "It's because I fell in love with you." As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like he'd been woken up a little bit, and Clary wasn't as blurry anymore, the absolute shock written all over her face, easier to make out. He felt his eyes widen at the reality of the situation; this wasn't just some drunk accident with a random girl, this was _Clary_.

She sucked in a breath, and then to his utter surprise, let out a light laugh, shaking her head at him. "Come on, Jace, you're drunk." He felt anything _but_ drunk, though.


	17. Decisions, Decisions

Life was too exhausting; Clary just could not bring herself to get out of bed that morning. Just after she started to think she was making some headway with Jace, he went and—what? Got a girlfriend overnight? If he wanted her, he could work for her.

"Christmas break soon," Isabelle sing-songed, skipping merrily through Clary's room, invading her lair. She covered her head with a pillow, hoping to tune out Isabelle's awful singing. To make the matter worse, the obsidian-eyed girl began to sing Christmas carols.

"Why, Iz, why?" Clary whined, her voice muffled by the pillow that wasn't quite blocking her airways.

"Because," Isabelle sat down on the edge of Clary's twin mattress, the bed sinking under the new weight. Clary hoped Izzy was finished with Christmas carols for the time being. "Have you looked outside lately? The sun is _shining_ and I don't like it." She pouted, crossing her arms over her chest, pouting like a petulant child.

Clary reluctantly sat up, scooping sleep from her eyes. "That bothers you?"

"Yes!" Isabelle exclaimed, manifestly offended that Clary wasn't catching onto whatever hints she was dropping.

 _Was_ she dropping any hints?

"It's not—it's not New York," Isabelle huffed, deflating some. "The cold air isn't biting my skin because my leggings are too thin, snowflakes aren't turning the roads all to hell, and I can't wear my cute winter boots or jacket that I bought!" Clary couldn't agree more, no matter how many great things LA had to offer, it wasn't New York, nor would it ever be; it didn't have the non-stop flow of traffic and pedestrians, or the smog weighing heavily in the air, nor did it have the buildings crowding together, greedy for more space. She missed New York.

Isabelle's phone chimed. She looked down at it, turning and leaing Clary's room. Just like that.

* * *

Only an hour later, after laying in bed and staring up at her bleakly white ceiling listlessly, her phone buzzing somewhere in the tangle of blankets, signaling she had gotten a text. If it was Isabelle telling her to get up and meet her at a store, Clary would be hiding the girl's wallet for a while.

But it wasn't.

It was Sebastian.

 _Meet me at the look-out._

Clary frowned in question, but got up nonetheless. Sebastian was being oddly cryptic. But then again, wasn't everyone?

* * *

Clary had pulled her hair up into a pony-tail, not in the least bit interested with putting in a dumptruck full of product. She gazed out at the look-out. It was a relatively quiet place, only the ocaisional jogger, or old-couple hiking came through. The sky that had been bright and cheery earlier, with the sun peaking through at her and blue skies for miles, had somehow turned bitter, dark, angry-looking clouds bringing darkness from above.

The trees and bushes ruffled, the over-due-for-a-cut grass waving around frantically as a wind stirred them. But she still heard the ruffling and rustling when the wind died down. Was someone there? Probably not a serial killer. Yeah, it most definitely was _not_ a serial killer. Sebastian was about as far as you could get from a serial killer (unless you considered children or the elderly).

With his long legs, it was no surprise that he had reached her in only a few strides, crouching down to sit beside her in the grass. His dark hair fell into his face, which he impatiently pushed away. "We need to talk," his tone was even, no emotion lacing it.

"What?" Clary laughed weakly. "Are you going to tell me that we should see other people?" Pulling her knees up to rest her chin on them, she peaked out from her curtain of red at him.

"About you and Jace." Of all the things he wanted—no, _needed_ —to talk to her about, it was that?

"W-what?" She swallowed thickly, her voice barely above a whisper as she stumbled and stuttered out the word.

Sebastian made a noise at the back of his throat, like a groan, but much more irritated. "You hate him, I get that," she could tell he was holding something back. He had his eyes screwed shut. "And he's screwed up more times than I can count, Clary. And he screwed up majorly with you. In my opinion, he doesn't deserve another chance—let alone another second of your time—but this is tearing him apart. And _you_."

"What are you getting at, Sebastian?" She whispered, unable—unwilling—to come out from her shield of red hair.

Sebastian knocked his fist against the ground, like he was knocking on a door, his lips pursed. Clary stared as he rapped the cold earth with his pale fist, each time his hand coming away with a little more dirt on it than the last. Now wouldn't it be something if the earth opened up—like a chasm—and someone answered his knocking? That would truly be something out of Wonderland itself. "It's something in the way he looks at you—a way he never looked at any of his past girlfriends, no matter how gorgeous, how famous, how smart, how rich—my point is, he's being all broody, and I think it's because of you. One minute he's sitting in a dark corner with his guitar, the next he's snapping his teeth at someone for something."

"What about his—" Clary swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat, as well as the vile thoughts about the girl who'd nothing to her. "—girlfriend?"

"Jace is stubborn—much like you, Clary—and he's much too complacent to admit to you how wrong he's been. That girl—what a disgusting girl she is, so clingy and—"he shuddered. "—everything is publicity. That moron who you—for a reason that is _beyond_ me—like does whatever Hodge wants, and if Hodge wants him to date an annoying twat, he does it."

"Why are you telling me this?" Clary forced her voice louder, but it only came just an octave above a whisper.

Sebastian put a pale, icy hand on her knee. "Because, Clary, I care about you, and whatever is going on between you two is obviously eating you from the inside out.

"You look like you haven't slept in weeks, your clothes are getting baggier as the days pass. You're my friend, and I really, _really_ hate seeing you like this." The words touched Clary on some level, all she felt though was a certain numbness, because numbness was poison. And she'd swallowed the whole bottle.

"I don't want to see you like this anymore, Clary," Sebastian gave her a look, his coal eyes pitying. There was nothing she hated more than being pitied, but the numbness pumping through her veins made the look in his eyes seem like nothing more than any other look he'd given her before. "I know it's not my place, but I say you either sort things out with him, or leave him all together."

Clary inhaled deeply, sharply. She had a choice to make. And all thanks to that annoying gut of hers telling her that if she let him go for good she'd regret it—big time—that she knew this wouldn't be an easy choice.

* * *

Mrs. Mousier's class was dry as ever, Clary tried to pay attention to whatever it was that the old, bitter woman was going on _and on_ about, but she couldn't. There was a war going on inside of her. The rational part of her told her that her life would be so much easier if Jace were no longer part of it, but the other half of her—the less rational part of her, that she'd labelled the stupid part of her—insisted that she needed him in her life.

And when the class was over, Clary knew what she wanted. It might be recklessly stupid of her to chose it, but there had to be a reason they called teenagers reckless, right?

* * *

Clary walked right past her apartment on her way home from school.

Soon, she found herself curled up against the trunk of a tree, textbooks splayed on the damp, green grass before her. _So much homework_. She officially hated college, if it wasn't already manifest.

Art Literature, Art History, actual art. It was all a blur before Clary's eyes as her mind raced. She'd never have thought learning about art required so much reading.

"What are you doing here?" Mixed emotions started to swirl inside of her, breaking the ice like layer of numbness she'd been stuck on the other side of.

She wasn't sure whether she wanted to punch him square in the face, or if she wanted to smile until her face split from stretching her skin so taut.

She looked up, pupils dilated from all the reading she'd been doing. "I wanted to see you."

Jace's clothes hung off his already-lean frame, as if he, too, had lost weight since their last meeting on Halloween. Dark crescents hung unflatteringly under his eyes. He looked shaken for a moment before offering her one of his customary crooked grins that she knew so well. The grin showed off his chipped incisor, and no matter how crookedly or widely he grinned at her, it didn't reach his eyes.

Was it possible that he was just as miserable as she was?

Clary looked back down at the textbook in her lap. The words swirled together in an unidentifiable mangle. She pushed the books away. Maybe it was time for a break. Clary rubbed at her temples—hoping to ease the surely oncoming headache.

Jace sat sat down beside her, his tawny hair, despite the rest of him, glowed ethereally. Even in the dark weather. An uneasy silence pressed heavily on them.

"Is it publicity?" Clary blurted, her cheeks lighting when she realized what she'd said. But Jace didn't smirk or even grin at the sight of her blushing like he usually would have—no comment, either. He just stared at her blankly.

And the way his eyes looked dead hurt her more than it probably should have.

Jace let out a strained sighed, tugging at his golden curls. His knuckles turned white with the force he was using on his hair. "Yes," he whispered. Clary had to strain to hear him.

 _Yes_.

Isn't that what she'd been wanting to hear?

If so, then why did she still feel so...strange?

Why wasn't she jumping around like her inner-child had imagined she would do if it really _was_ publicity?

Clary nodded her head, her eyes locked on the grass below her; it looked the same as it had the last time she saw it. Her hands were thrumming with nervous energy, shaking ever so softly. But it was enough for Jace to notice, she knew. So she picked at the paint lodged under her nails, watching as it flaked to the ground.

Jace chuckled throatily, as if he hadn't used his voice in quite some time.

She snapped her head towards him. Clary's heart hammered violently against her ribcage, threatening to burst out of her chest, it seemed. "What?" She asked, intending it to come out less breathily than it did. It was meant to be sharp, like she was indifferent—angry, even. Instead, though, it had to come out breathily, ruining whatever daggers she was trying to stab at him with her narrowed eyes.

Jace's golden eyes pierced her, like a sword stuck straight through her chest cavity. God, how she had hated that look when they were younger. How she had hated his oddly aureate eyes, tawny hair, like a halo around his head. Now, she felt quite the opposite. Because there was nobody who would look more beautiful with the ethereal features than him.

Clary was typically an observant person—being an artist—when she wasn't zoned out, which she had been, and now she couldn't tell if Jace had gotten closer to her, or if he'd been in the same spot the whole time. His cheekbones and jawline stood out, what with the odd shadow of the tree they sat under.

His lips touched hers softly, as if asking permission. She answered him by pressing her lips harder against his, feeling near desperate for him to understand what she wanted to say: _I'm yours_.

Jace's calloused fingers grazed her hips, the touch searing her skin, even with the fabric of her shirt between them. He easily lifted her onto his lap, her legs on either side of his hips. He kissed her back with just as much desperation as she had kissed him, pressing her closer to him. She felt every curve, every line of his toned chest through the thin fabric of his own shirt.

She melted into him, and she knew that without a doubt she was completely, utterly screwed.

* * *

She didn't know who had pulled away first, but it didn't matter, as it felt like they'd been kissing an eternity—or a few minutes.

Clary braced her hands on his muscular shoulders, her lips tingling. Leaning her forehead against Jace's, she could tell that he was breathing just as hard as her, even though he hid it well.

"I'm sorry." Clary had never thought two words could mean so much. But as his hand played absently with the hem of her shirt, and his molten eyes boring into hers, she knew he meant it. She knew his aversion to apologies, how he hated being pitied, how his mother—a wise woman—had told him to only ever apologize if he really, truly meant it.

Clary would bet an entire months rent that Jace didn't know she knew that.

"For what?" Clary looked down, breaking his intense stare. She could say she knew, but there were so many things he could be apologizing for.

"For everything," She felt his eyes burning into her skull, right through her, it seemed. His tone was quiet, sincere, even.

Pursing her lips, Clary nodded tersely."But, where does that leave us?" She let her eyes rise back up to meet Jace's.

"I don't know."

"Fantastic," Clary let her head fall onto Jace's shoulder, her fingers skimming softly over the soft material of his shirt.

Letting her mind wander, Clary realized she still had that ten-page essay due tomorrow, and for the life of her, couldn't remember whether or not she'd already started it. Probably not. The thought alone evoked a loud, obnoxious groan from Clary.

She felt Jace rumble beneath her as he laughed, a musical sound that made her want to smile. "What's wrong?"

"College sucks," she blew out a breath. "You're lucky you don't have to go." Clary sat up, looking at his face, at the sharp angles and planes. The semetry was beautiful.

She'd have to draw him sometime.

Jace was silent beneath her once more, she didn't press Jace's uncharacteristic silence, instead, deciding to savour it. Kind of. Her nerves were sparking at the proximity of their bodies, every part of her hyper-aware of his every movement. It was the weirdest feeling ever, she decided. Not that Clary could say she didn't feel quite comfortable.

Just as she began to think that she would be content to lay in his arms forever, his phone bleated loudly, and in turn, caused the redhead to scramble off of Jace, emerald eyes wild. He laughed at her display, digging around in his baggy jean pocket for his phone—the cursed thing that had ruined whatever chance she had of Jace staying silent.

Jace stood up, brushing the grass and small—perhaps miniscule—rocks from his pants.

"Let me guess," Clary drawled, hastily and carelessly packing away her books in her tote. "You have to go?" She straightened, hitching the strap of said tote higher on her shoulder. Jace gave her an apologetic look, before hurrying away, in the direction of his apartment building.

* * *

"No way—I don't believe it," Isabelle said through a mouthful of pizza, all the while, shaking her head in a nearly disapproving manner.

"Believe me, don't. It doesn't matter," Clary shrugged, taking another greedy bite out of her slice. _God_ , she thought, _we've got to stop eating out—too bad none of us can cook_. Isabelle leaned back in her hard, wooden chair, arms crossed with some akin to anger and awe scrawled across her chiselled features.

Clary was glad that Simon picked that moment to walk into the kitchen, dumping his keys in the table. He sighed tiredly, slipping his hand under the lens of his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Hey," he let out a loud breath. "Is that pizza?" His face instantly brightened, his hands expertly folding two pieces of pizza together, proceeding to shove the mouth-watering life-sustaining substance his mouth.

"See, there isn't a bad mood that pizza couldn't ever cure," Clary smiles wryly at Isabelle, who's still watching her through narrowed charcoal eyes.

The black-haired beauty stands up, wiping the palms of hands on her leggings. She gives Clary a cold look. "Tell that asshole that if he ever hurts you, he'll majorly regret it." She spins from the room, leaving the redhead in a daze of some sort. She knew where Izzy was coming from—Jace practically stole Isabelle's brother away from her, which, even though Clary knew her friend would never admit, hurt her. And not only did it hurt Isabelle, Clary knew that it hurt their younger brother Max, because he hadn't the slightest clue where his older brother—his supposed role model—had up and left to. Or _why_.

And frankly, neither did Clary.

* * *

Clary couldn't sleep, no matter how she tried.

She laid on her back.

She laid on her stomach.

She laid on her side.

But sleep would not come and drag her into the darkness. But who needs sleep, anyways?

Clary sat on her daybed, curled comfortably within the confines of her blankets and pillows with—okay, and stuffed animals—her sketch book in hand, coloured pencils scattered throughout her bed.

A sudden wave of nostalgia had hit Clary, leaving her with a burning itch to draw the view from her old New York bedroom window: buildings on the horizon, the sun rising behind them, lighting the few glass buildings up bright orange and red like a poker left too long in the fire.

How she longed to be back in New York.

In the quiet of the apartment, the knock on her window was like fire alarms sounding. She jumped backwards, her head connecting with the drywall. She heard a distinct cracking noise. Groaning, she unscrewed her eyes.

Peaking at her through her window were two laughing aureate eyes. She threw a pillow with all her might at the window, even though it was closed— _and_ locked. The pillow dropped sadly to the floor. Shaking her head to clear her mind, she threw back her warm covers, padding softly over to the window. She heard the _click_ of the locking mechanism, and moved to pull open the window.

"Jace?" Clary squinted at his form in the shadows and darkness wrapping around him like a cloak.

"Do you have anyone _else_ coming to your window?"

Clary rolled her eyes. "What do you want?"

Jace's grin seemed to lighten the shadows. "Come with me."

* * *

 **Hey guys! Long time no...see? That doesn't quite makes sense.**

 **I want to apologize for the long stretch of time where I didn't update. Truth be told, I couldn't be bothered with this story, and I had no inspiration, so again, I apologize. But I did go back an edit this chapter at least three times.**

 **So, enjoy!**

 **And until next time...**

 **Review?**

 **:))**


	18. Rendezvous

**Oh, hey, look at that - I finally updated. It's a miracle, or something of the sort.**

 **Huge thank you to my awesome beta, HeronFrayWood, who had this back to me in no time.**

 **Read, my children.**

* * *

"Where are you taking me?" Clary whispered, despite the fact that there was no one around to hear her.

Jace pivoted to smirk at her, something devilish and familiar gleaming within those eyes like beacons. With the dark sky looming above, cars speeding past every now and again, it seemed they were completely alone, in their own bubble. A bubble where he wasn't Jace Herondale and nothing had ever happened between them. "Now, why would I tell you?"

"You didn't turn into a serial killer anytime within the past five years, right?" Clary kept her eyes trained on their entwined hands, the way his swallowed hers. The sight wasn't unfamiliar—that wasn't it—but it felt different somehow. And maybe it was the way her pulse was racing, or the way his eyes always lit up like lanterns when he saw her, but it was different.

He shrugged, his muscles moving underneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Clary couldn't help but marvel at the sight. "Depends what you consider a serial killer."

Then, with that same devilish look twinkling and dancing in his mesmerizing eyes, and a wicked grin playing on his thin lips, he snapped his head back around, tugging her across the vacant road behind him.

* * *

She didn't know where she was, only that her golden boy had gone utterly—and not to mention uncharacteristically—silent, and brick walls stood on either side of her.

Perhaps he was a serial killer, after all.

" _Jace_." His name was hissed sound, a ribbon of noise floating through the silence surrounding her.

She was in an alley, and unlike New York, this particular one didn't have discarded wrappers, graffiti-cloaked dumpsters, or that odd smell of cat pee.

The only reply that came was a light chuckle.

Suddenly, a door swung open, and Clary narrowly avoided being hit in the head by sliding out of the way, her sneakers scraping against the pavement beneath her. Light seeped through the open doorway, a shadow in the center of the light.

Jace.

When she held her arms up, about to demand why he had thought of all places to go, of all things to do, he felt the need to take her here, he grabbed her right hand with his left one, tugging her through the arched doorway after him.

Once more, his hand slipped from her own, the door swinging shut not a second later. Engulfed in darkness and mildly irritated, Clary stood still, holding her tongue, preventing any curses from slipping out.

She listened, quite amused, as a plethora of curses fell from Jace's mouth. She heard him murmuring to himself until a blinding brightness left her eyes stinging and her hand flying up to cover her eyes. Her heart seemed to throw itself against her ribcage and get caught in her throat all at once. _What in the name of all things good and holy_ —

"Come _on_ ," Jace gave her hand a tug, pulling her down a now-lit hallway, her eyes still stinging. Stumbling over her feet and cursing colourfully at Jace, she followed the rock star's direction. They slipped through many a doorways and down hallways, their shoes scuffling against the floor.

At long last they arrived in front of the base of a winding wooden staircase, the wood worn and dusty. The redhead looked curiously to Jace, who was grinning at her as though he'd won the lottery, the bizarre smile stretching from one perfect ear to the other. The smile unnerved her greatly.

 _Follow me_ — _trust me_ , his ochre eyes oozed the words, the tawny hair atop his sun-kissed head glowing like a halo of some sort or another. He looked like an angel, all that gold—which was ironic, given the fact that she didn't necessarily trust him. You were supposed to trust angels—until they screwed you over, anyways.

Jace's rapid steps up the stairs should have been heavy and made the iron structure groan obnoxiously, and, really, the structure should have given out under him—but it didn't. And so Clary followed.

* * *

Clary expected—mostly imagined—many a things waiting for her at the top of the stairs, when she finished climbing the iron staircase—heavy-looking metal beams stretching out across the expanse of the ostensibly mile-long ceiling were not one of them.

But there was Jace, a few feet in front of her, standing perfectly balanced in the middle of the first beam leading outward to the center of the ceiling, that insufferable grin still pasted across his beautifully-structured face. With the light from below reflecting off of his hair a little, giving him an odd glow and his eyes alight with mischief, Clary couldn't help but think how much he resembled a fallen angel.

"What are you _doing_?" Clary called after him as he continued walking, his toned back facing her. She was scared that she might fall, and call him crazy and whatever else she might in that artistic, chaotic head of hers, there was an extensive portion of that same head that wanted her to go out on to the rafters with Jace—wanted her to push her comfort zone.

"Live a little," Jace hollered back, waving his arm in the air for her to join him from where he stood—which was much further away than it had been mere minutes ago.

Clary muttered absently to herself, shaking her head a little as she took a first step onto the beam. It seemed to shake under her, threatening to throw her off like a raging bull. "You're insane!" She yelled at the blond head at least twenty feet in front of her.

"Tell me something I don't know," Jace looked back at her, a smile ghosting across his features.

"When we first moved here I would have rather jumped out into oncoming traffic than go on a date with you."

" _What_?" Jace's head whipped around. She could not wrap her mind around he hadn't fallen with the action, how he was still standing perfectly still on the metal beam.

Clary shrugged. "You said to tell you something you didn't know." The only reply she got was a terse shake of the head, gold curls bouncing with the action and a deep chuckle, one that resonated through him like a shock.

* * *

Clary had nearly fallen off of the metal beams on several different occasions. By the time she reached the point in which the beams all seemed to meet, Jace had nearly fallen, too—from laughing so diligently at her moments of fleeting panic as she lost her footing. Clary wondered how much he would have laughed had she truly plummeted to her death. Not very much was the only realistic answer she came up with.

"Sit," Jace took her hand, letting her use it as a panic bar of sorts while she sat, legs trembling slightly each time she lowered her slight form fractionally.

As soon as Clary was seated, legs dangling over the metal beam and eyes wandering, Jace dropped beside her with a practiced ease and cat-like grace that should impossible for a human being to possess. And yet he did.

"So, my dearest Clarissa, tell me some other things I don't know."

"Well, my winsome Jonathan, what kind of things?"

"What happened while I was gone?" Jace was watching her so intently with his melted butterscotch eyes—a hand seemed to wrap around her heart and squeeze it like a vice.

"Uh—my appendix ruptured?" It came out as a question, which was certainly not the way she had intended for it to come out—it was a solid fact, not a guess.

What little light there was up here in the rafters shone down onto his abnormally large eyes. Even looking utterly ridiculous, he looked beautiful—he had been, and always would be, one of those lucky people who had the universe working in their favour to make them even better looking than they already were. Clary laughed, her head falling backwards and her legs kicking outwards slightly, teetering, toeing the line between staying balanced, and losing said balance completely, and dropping to the ground below like an anchor dropped off the deck of a ship.

"That's—that's...interesting? Is that what I'm supposed to say?" Jace shrugged awkwardly, his narrow mouth stretching out into an unknowing smile.

"Well, I'm not sure how else one might respond to that—you know, maybe 'oh, I'm so sorry to hear that', or 'oh sweet baby Jesus, are you alright?'. You know, things like that. But, oh, _no_ , that's too old-school for Jace Herondale."

He laughed again, a deep, belly laugh that made her insides squirm and rearrange themselves. How on earth had she gone from wishing him death to having only his laugh making her squirm restlessly? Such a thing seemed impossible. It seemed preposterous, even.

Clary and Jace, dating. Her fourteen year-old self would have been oozing happiness and screaming, and jumping around her room clutching a pillow to her chest as Jocelyn yelled for her to keep it down. But she was no longer fourteen. She was a nineteen year-old woman, with goals, values and morals, and self-respect; there was no way she was doing that in her bedroom at the apartment—only when she was alone would she finally allow the fourteen year-old beast caged inside of her (currently screaming, mind you) out into the open.

It was then that Clary felt a heavy weight settle into the pit of her stomach. Fame was a beast in itself, one worse than her fourteen year-old self. And if it could change her best friend in the entire world into someone who she couldn't possibly recognize, what would it do to her?

* * *

 **Update! Yay! It's short, but I felt the need to cut it there. Now, you may possibly be wondering, how will this story proceed when Clary and Jace so obviously aren't cold to each other and are making out in their free time? Well, foreshadowing is a thing, and I used it to the best of my abilities, and you'll just have to try and find the small clues I left.**

 **Until next time.**


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